


Picking Up The Pieces

by MissBayliss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Back Pain, Chronic Pain, Common Cold, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pneumonia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sick Dean, Sickfic, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 71,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8526190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBayliss/pseuds/MissBayliss
Summary: Sequel to the story 'Taking Some Time'. Sam and Dean have found a little piece of normality in their messed up world, but Dean's still healing, physically and mentally.





	1. Chapter 1

"You gonna be okay?"  
"To get out of the car? Yeah," Dean sighed.   
"Want me to come in with you?"  
"Dude, do I look seven?"  
"I'll pick you up at 12, okay?" Sam said, ignoring him.   
"Sure. You working tonight?"  
"Yeah, but I got the steak out of the freezer for you for dinner."  
"Awesome," Dean said sarcastically.   
"And can you please call Riley? She keeps asking about you, man."  
Dean sighed.   
"She likes you, Dean."  
"She doesn't like me, Sam. She likes sex. There's a difference."  
"That's... probably not true."  
"Whatever, dude," Dean looked at the building through the passenger side window, "What are they gonna keep me in there for two hours for?"  
Sam smiled empathetically, "I'm sure you'd find out if you went in."  
Dean opened his door and planted his boots on the bitumen parking lot, bracing his hands either side of the door frame to lever himself out of the car, favouring his left arm heavily. It had been months since his shoulder was fixed but he still had to be careful.   
"Hey."  
Dean looked down and Sam was trying to hand him his cane out the passenger side. Dean slammed the door hearing the cane clutter against it and drop down into the footwell. He smirked and limped towards the physical rehabilitation centre. 

...

Aside from feeling like a complete idiot, rehab was slow, painful, and borderline ridiculous. Although it did have its perks.  
Dean met a girl.   
"Hi. You're Dean, right?" she said, light brown hair with a gingery hue in waves framing her freckled face.   
"Yeah," Dean nodded, the word sticking in his mouth. It'd been so long since he'd spoken to a girl. Especially one that pretty. Since he'd had his second surgery, he and Riley hadn't hooked up again. There was too great a risk of damaging himself. Needless to say, his confidence was pretty much in pieces.  
"I'm Katie," she smiled, stretching a hand out for him to shake.   
He gripped it. Her hands were warm and soft. His were cold and hard.   
"You're new, aren't you?"  
Dean looked down at himself, "That obvious, huh?"  
"No! I didn't mean -"   
"It's okay," he laughed.   
She smiled, and, God, it was like the sun had come out.   
"How long have you been here?" Dean asked.   
"A few months."  
"Geez, what happened?"  
"Lost my leg," she shrugged.   
"Oh my god... I’m sorry."  
"It’s okay. It was a car accident. Drunk driver. My leg was crushed beneath the dash."  
Dean shook his head, marveled at the ease this woman told her story with.   
"What about you, Dean?" She asked, her light brown eyes shining at him.   
He gulped, clenched the railing.   
"Spinal surgery... and shoulder surgery," he pointed to his arm, "Fell over a balcony."  
"Ouch," she winced.   
Dean shrugged. If only she knew that what his physical body had been through was nothing compared to what his soul had been through. How shredded it was. Like an open, bleeding wound. Steadily gushing fresh crimson.   
"Are you alright? Do you want to sit down?"  
 _God_ , his hands were shaking and slippery with sweat. His face tingled like he was about to pass out. Waves of pain crashing over him.   
He gripped the railing tighter, begging his body to remain standing.   
"I'm okay," he choked out.   
She had worry in her eyes, and dammit, if that didn't make her even cuter.  
"Okay," she nodded, "I'll, um... I'll see you round, Dean."  
And like that he'd lost her. God, he was such an idiot. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Sam would be there to pick him up in half an hour.   
It was too long to wait. 

...

"Hey, how'd you go today?" Sam asked, chipper voice, still ecstatic at Dean's decision to go to rehab.   
Dean groaned.   
"That good, huh?"   
"I feel like an idiot."  
"Hey," Sam said, brow furrowed, "It'll take time. You're getting there."  
Dean grumbled and stared out the window.   
"There any hot girls there?" Sam asked, changing the subject.   
"Mm," Dean moaned, "Katie."  
“What’s she in for?”  
“She's learning to use her prosthetic."  
"Oh."  
"Yeah. Lots of people out there worse off than me... Lots of people that didn't deserve it."  
Sam stopped the car that was rolling through the parking lot, "What? And you did?"  
Dean shook his head, small sad smile tugging at one side of his mouth.   
"Dean..."  
"Can we not do this?" Dean said, looking out the window, anywhere but his brother, "I'm tired, Sam."  
"No, Dean, we're gonna do this. I can't stand the way you feel like all this is your fault. That you deserved to be hurt, you deserve to be sick, you deserve to be in pain... How can you hate yourself so much?"  
Dean widened his eyes at Sam, then swallowed, and blinked back tears.   
"You know why."  
"No, Dean, I'm not buying that anymore. What happened to you was the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone, but you did what you had to..."  
"Don't," Dean said firmly, eyes lighting up, heart pounding in his chest, "You don't know the first thing about that place, so don't pretend to understand."  
Sam sighed, "Then let me try, Dean."  
Dean looked from one eye to the other. He wasn't sure what he was trying to read in Sam's eyes. Hope? Whatever it was, it was too much.   
"No."  
"Where are you going?" Sam asked as Dean opened his door.   
Dean slammed it behind him and ambled back towards the rehab centre. Heart pounding, sweat on his brow, so close to a full blown panic attack. His chest hurt. God, he was probably going to die like this. Yeah, a heart attack. That'd be a great way to go. He could only imagine the look on Alistair's face when he got spat back into the pit.   
He didn't know if Sam was coming after him. He didn't turn to look. He would have sat down on the curb but that was a long way down and he'd likely not be able to get up on his own. He went back into the building. The entry was empty except for the receptionist that gave him a concerned look. He mustered a smile for her sake and turned to look at a picture on the wall. His hands were shaking and he felt light headed, the room tilting on its axis.   
"Dean?"   
Turning his head to look at Katie made the room spin in lurching circles, and he stumbled to keep his balance.   
"Whoa, okay, sit down. Are you alright?"  
Dean didn't answer.   
"Can I get some help in here?"  
After his ass found a chair and he leaned forward with his head in his hands, he felt the strong grip and familiar firmness of his brother’s hands ghosting over his back.   
When he could focus on the sounds around him he could hear his voice.   
"Dean. Deep breaths, man. It's okay..."  
Dean swallowed.   
"You gonna be sick? Someone get me a bucket."  
Dean hadn't thought about it till he said it but, yeah, he was gonna be sick.   
A trashcan was shoved under his chin and not a moment too soon. He emptied his lunch into it, letting a strangled sob pass his lips as his stomach clenched over and over.   
When the pain in his chest finally let go he looked up to see Grant, his physiotherapist, and Karen, his occupational therapist, along side Sam and Katie.   
"Okay," Sam said, hand still steady on his back, "You're alright. I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry."  
Sam's forehead pressed against Dean's and he sagged a little.   
_I forgive you._  
After a moment Dean sat back and Sam pulled Grant and Karen aside, presumably to explain his episode. It wasn't medical. It wasn't from pain. It was just panic. Pure, blinding, panic.   
"Dean?"  
Katie was sitting beside him with a hand on his knee.   
He rolled his head to the side to look at her, smiling weakly at her concerned expression.   
"I'm okay," he panted, "Happens sometimes."  
She placed her warm hand on the back of his neck.  
“You’ve seen some shit, haven’t you?” she said, with a gentle squeeze.  
Dean closed his eyes, as a tear slipped from the corner to run down his cheek. He nodded.  
“Dean?” Sam was leaning over him, “Let’s go home.”

…

“You’re not calling in sick to work. I can look after myself.”  
Sam sighed. He figured his brother’s attitude would have changed a little, but he guessed it was engrained in his DNA. That was Dean. That was just how he was. He was always going to blame himself for things out of his control. He was always going to try and shoulder it all on his own. He was always going to put everyone else first and leave himself last. It had been a big enough struggle to get Dean to agree to spinal surgery in the first place. And if he hadn’t fallen trying to get out of the bath he probably would still be refusing it. It had been a long road, full of potholes and road kill, but Dean had eventually realized.   
“They’ll understand if I –“  
“Sam,” Dean growled.  
“Alright, fine. I’m going.”  
“Finally.”  
“If you go for a walk can you at least take the cane?”  
Dean smirked, “I’m not going for a walk. American Restorations is on,” he pointed to the TV with the remote.  
Which really meant, _I’m too sore and too tired for that, Sammy._  
“Just call me if you need something. If you need help, Dave and Maxine…”  
“Yes, alright. They pay you to be late? Would you go already?”

…

Sam had been at work for several hours when he looked over to see Dean staggering in, in that strained rigid way he walked these days, leaning heavily into the handle of his cane with every step. Looking at the red creased lines on Dean's face he could tell the series of events that had led Dean to stumble through the doors of the bar. When Sam had left Dean had promptly fallen asleep on the couch, face pressed into the cushions, until he woke up hours later to his stomach rumbling and the steak still defrosting in the fridge, deciding he couldn't be bothered to cook himself dinner at this late hour he'd caught a taxi to the bar. It really wasn't the first time it'd happened.   
He caught Dean's eye and furrowed his brow at the exaggerated way he was walking, relying more on the cane than he ever had.   
Dean's quick, well practiced wink confirmed his suspicions that Dean had come down for more than just to strap on a feed bag.  
Sam poured a beer and sat it down in front of him as Dean eased himself onto the stool.  
Dean took a long swig.  
“Nachos or burger?” Sam asked.  
Dean cocked his head in question, with a hint of admiration.  
“Nachos,” he grunted, “How’s work?”  
“Slow. How was American Restorations?”  
Dean smirked.  
“You didn’t even get five minutes in, did you?”  
By now it was a running joke on how long Dean lasted before his painkillers knocked him out. Historically, it didn’t take long. And he’d _always_ be hungry when he woke up.  
Dean didn’t reply but kept that lazy smile on his face as he glanced up the bar to where Riley was serving another customer, bending over, scooping ice, in her tight black short shorts. She looked over and Dean nodded casually in her direction.  
“What’do we got?” Dean asked, directing his attention back to Sam, sipping his beer.  
“Couple of young guys, off duty suits, I think.”  
“Money?”  
“Been paying in fifties all night.”  
Dean grinned and took another swig. He cleared his throat. “The injured vet story gonna get ‘em?”  
Sam smiled in response.  
“Keep my nachos warm,” Dean winked, pushing off the stool and limping towards the pool tables.

…

Dean played the usual. Lost the first two games then wiped the floor with them on the third. The guys didn’t even get a shot it, but they didn’t seem mad. They even shook Dean’s hand and thanked him for his service. Sam hadn’t seen how much he’d got out of them but he knew it’d be a decent amount, considering the way they’d been flashing it around. Not to mention they’d been buying Dean drinks all night.   
Sam was wiping down the bar when Dean sat himself down in front of him, glowing from his recent victory.   
“You want your nachos now?”  
“God, yes. I’m starving.”  
Riley came past and placed his plate of nachos down on the bar, clearly having been in earshot of the exchange. Sam took his queue, reading the look on his brothers face, and suddenly became busy somewhere else.

…

“If it isn’t Dean Winchester,” her voice was husky and raw sounding.  
“How you been, Riley?” he smirked, “Sounds like you’ve been partying.”  
“I wish,” her voice cut out as she laughed, “There’s a bug going around. I’m surprised Sam hasn’t got it yet.”  
“Oh, Sam never gets sick. Immune system of steel. All that rabbit food he eats,” Dean said, shoving a cheesy chip in his mouth.  
Riley laughed squeakily.   
“So, how are you? I haven’t heard from you lately.”  
Dean shook his head and picked through his nachos.  
“I’m doing good. Doc said it’ll get worse before it gets better.”  
“Damn,” she sighed, “So, I guess you can’t do anything too physical then?” she raised her eyebrow.  
Dean cleared his throat, “Unfortunately.”  
“Oh well,” she shrugged, “I wouldn’t have wanted to get you sick anyway.”  
Dean chuckled even though it wasn’t really funny. The amount of alcohol he’d consumed, besides making him wobbly on his feet, which was a very bad thing, was making him a little depressed and cynical. As if he needed help with that.   
The conversation more or less ending there, Dean sat and ate his nachos, ignoring the dull ache settling over his whole body. When his plate was pretty much clean he heard Riley call to his brother.  
“Sam, head off early. Take your brother home.”  
“You trying to get rid of me?” Dean flirted.  
“Never,” she whispered, leaning over the counter, “but you look beat.”  
Dean pursed his lips and nodded. Geez, if he didn’t need another hit to his confidence.  
Sam approached them and looked down at Dean.  
 _You good?_  
Dean nodded and eased himself out of the chair, painfully slowly. Sam rounded the bar, knowing better than to try and help him. It was bad enough he needed a stupid cane to get around.  
“Call me anytime,” Riley rasped.  
Dean didn’t care that she was sick, her voice was friggen sexy.   
“Sure thing, Riley. Be good.”  
“Not if I can help it,” she winked.

…

“So, how much did you hustle?” Sam asked, pulling the impala out onto the road.  
“$800,” Dean smirked, pulling his bills out to count them.  
“Dude, that’s more than I earned last fortnight, _with tips_.”  
Dean laughed, “Aw, Sammy. You have your job, I have mine.”  
“Well, I work my ass off.”  
“And I don’t?” Dean had the audacity to look offended.  
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam sighed.  
“Uhh,” Dean shifted in his seat, leaned his head against the window.  
“You okay, man?”  
Dean’s eyes were closed, “It’s been a long day.”  
“I’ll bet. We’ll be home soon and you can… Dean?”  
Sam stopped and listened to the soft snores coming from the passenger seat. He turned the radio on low and let Bob Seger fill the car.  
 _Roll me away._

…


	2. Chapter 2

“Dean, wake up.”  
Dean woke with a start, swinging a pretty good left hook considering he was post shoulder surgery. Sam dodged, knowing by now to stay well back when he woke his brother. Dean winced though, as if the action wasn’t as easy as it appeared.  
“I fall asleep?” he mumbled, groggily, dragging his hand down his face.  
“Yeah. You need help?”  
Sam was bent over with the passenger door open, hand on Dean’s bicep, ready to help him swing his legs round.  
“Back off. I got it,” Dean grumbled.  
 _Grumpy,_ Sam thought and stepped back.  
Dean took his time, making it look like he was just distracted and tired, and not stiff and sore and slow. Sam knew better. He also knew better than to say anything about it.  
Dean managed to get up on one end, leaning on the roof of the impala for support. Sam knew Dean loved his baby, but sometimes he wished she had bucket seats. The bench was not comfortable, especially for someone with a spinal injury.   
“Alright, dude,” Dean put his hand out and Sam handed him his cane, suppressing the urge to look shocked. Dean _rarely_ asked for that thing. He despised it with a passion.  
They were slow getting into the house. Dean headed straight for his bedroom.   
Sam cleaned up in the kitchen a little, made sure he checked the calendar for any appointments Dean might have had, where they needed to be, when he had to get to work. And then he retired to his room, feeling overly exhausted from work and looking after Dean. There were things Dean didn’t want help with. Most of the time he wouldn’t let Sam help him up, help him walk, do anything physical at all, but Sam knew there were other ways to care for Dean. He cared for Dean mentally. He cared for Dean emotionally. Because while Dean wouldn’t allow him to _physically_ help him, he let him make all the appointments, keep track of the meds, get him where he needed to be on time. He woke him up from his nightmares, he talked him down when he was about to tip over the edge, brought him back when he was caught up in his own head. He was there. And Dean thought it was his job to take care of Sam,   
_Watch out for Sammy. Look after your little brother._  
but now it was Sam’s job to watch out for him. And Sam finally realized what Dean had been dealing with all those years, and his heart swelled in his chest whenever he thought about it. He’d do whatever it took. He’d do anything for Dean.

…

Dean pulled up his shirt and twisted gently to look at his scar in the mirror. It was nasty. At some time he would have thought it looked badass. But he didn’t think that anymore. Now it was just another scar on his body, weighing more than the one Castiel had left him with.  
He could hear Sam snoring, telling him he’d already gone to bed, with the door open so he could hear in case Dean needed him. Sam didn’t usually snore, unless he had allergies or something. Dean let his shirt fall down and felt it graze across his tender skin.   
He walked down the hall to peer in at his brother. Sam was sleeping on his back, head tilted to the side. Dead to the world. His sheet was tangled in his legs and only came up to his waist, where a hint of belly flesh was showing from his shirt that had ridden up. Dean leaned on the wall, then the dresser, lumbering in quietly. He pulled the sheet up over Sam’s chest and gave him pat. He didn’t wake.  
 _Some hunter you are_ , Dean thought, pulling his door shut most of the way.   
He went out to the kitchen, looking in the fridge for beer. He was less than buzzed now and he needed some help getting to sleep.  
A fluttering of wings came from behind him and he spun around, coming face to face with Cas.  
“Dude!” Dean whispered, angrily, “Way to scare a guy!”  
“Hello, Dean,” Cas spoke in a low, hushed voice.  
“Hello?” Dean sneered, “That’s it? _Hello_?”  
“I believe it is customary.”  
“I’ve been rotting here for _months_! And all you can say is _hello_?”  
“Dean, heaven has been…”  
“You know what, Cas? Whatever it is, I don’t care. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?”  
“I know, Dean.”  
“You know?” Dean got angrier with every statement.  
“I heard your prayers.”  
Dean looked over his shoulder to check Sam hadn’t stumbled out and heard.  
“Okay, so you heard my prayers and you, what? Said ‘not my problem’?”  
“We had other matters to attend to.”  
“Save it.”  
“We were under orders.”  
“Under orders to let this happen to me? You could have healed me, Cas. I can barely walk! How am I supposed to save the world for you when I can’t even stand for more than thirty minutes? You want me to stop the apocalypse? News flash, I’m damaged goods. Find someone else.”  
“Dean, if you’ll just listen.”  
“Can you heal me?”  
Cas looked down, “… no.”  
“Get out.”  
“Dean, listen…”  
“Get out of my house, Cas!”  
Dean looked away, when he looked back the angel was gone.  
“Dean?” Sam mumbled, plodding out into the hallway, hair everywhere.  
“Go back to sleep, Sam.”  
“What happened?” Sam’s eyes were barely open.  
“I’ll tell you later. It’s fine. Go back to bed.”  
Sam looked confused but pursed his lips and nodded, before disappearing back into his room.  
Dean was shaking with anger. He gripped the bench in front of him.  
“ _Shit_.”

…

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Dean mused from the couch, watching Sam stumble into the kitchen, hair mussed, eyes bleary.  
“Shut up,” he grunted. Dean cocked his head at the gravel in his voice. “Why didn’t you wake me?”  
Dean shrugged, “Why would I?”  
Sam ignored him and opened the fridge.  
“What do you want for breakfast?”  
“Sam, stop,” Dean said, seeing Sam tilt a little.  
He shut the fridge and turned to lean on the bench, eyes pressed shut. He cleared his throat, “I’m fine.”  
“You’re sick.”  
“Dean…”  
“Don’t lie to me, Sam. I heard you snoring all night. Riley said there’s a bug going around.”  
Sam sighed, ended up coughing, “Alright, maybe I’m sick.”  
“Go back to bed.”  
Sam shook his head, “No, Dean,” he gestured to the calendar, “You have a post-op appointment. I have to –“   
“I’ll get a taxi. Dude, you’re all over the place.”  
Sam slumped into the breakfast bar stool.  
“I’m just tired. That’s all.”  
Dean rolled his eyes, and worked his way up to standing. He suppressed a grunt of pain. One grunt and Sam would be all over him mother-hen style, sick or not.   
When he made his way to Sam he plastered a hand across his forehead.  
“Yeah, you’re not going anywhere today.”  
“Dean!” Sam whined, “I have work.”  
“No, you don’t,” Dean said, pulling his phone out.  
“Oh, Dean, come on.”  
Dean stepped away so Sam couldn’t reach for the phone.  
“I don’t start until 5. Why don’t we just see how I am this afternoon?”  
Dean grumbled, “Fine, but if that fever hangs around you’re not going.”  
“Fine,” Sam mumbled, like a petulant child, “And you shouldn’t get too close, Dean. You can’t get sick right now.”  
Dean couldn’t count how any things were wrong with that statement. The blaringly obvious one being, a sick Sam just told him to stay away, as if it wasn’t his only purpose in life to look after his little brother, especially when he was sick. Asking Dean not to look after him, was like asking him to stop breathing. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. _Ever._  
“Whatever,” Dean moaned, anger and bitterness driving the word out of his mouth.  
Dean was healing. Since both surgeries he’d had 3 colds and a nasty case of bronchitis. He seemed to be sick all the time. The doctors told him is immune system would be weakened while he healed, all his energy going into that, allowing small pathogens to set up camp whenever they got the chance. Yeah, he knew that. Yeah, he’d probably get whatever Sam had. But it didn’t mean he deserved to be treated like that. Wrapped in cotton wool. _Babied._  
Sam sighed, seeing Dean’s anger, “I just meant…”  
Dean tossed the Tylenol bottle at him, “Go to bed.”  
Sam pursed his lips. _Oh_ , he wasn’t the only one that didn’t like being treated like a child.   
Dean stared him down, until Sam rose and dragged himself back to his bedroom. He waited till he heard the door shut before he opened the cupboard and retrieved the whiskey bottle, unscrewing the top and taking a _long_ sip. He closed his eyes, allowed himself to breathe deeply. The bottle was over half empty. He knew Sam would notice. It was almost full yesterday, but after Cas’s little visit… let’s just say Dean needed a little medicating. There were paintings on the walls when they moved in. Last night Dean had removed them all and carved angel warding symbols into the walls, before putting them back in place. He hadn’t slept at all.   
He heard Sam cough in the other room and pulled his phone out again.  
 _“Hey, Dean. What’s up?”_  
“Riley, hey. Uh, listen, Sam’s not gonna be able to work today.”  
 _“So, he caught that bug after all?”_  
Dean smiled, “Yeah, guess I was wrong. Kid’s a mess.”  
 _“Oh, I’m sorry. Will he be okay?”_  
“Oh, yeah. He’ll be fine, he just needs to sleep it off.”  
He heard her sigh, _“Okay… That’s… okay.”_  
“What’s wrong?”   
_“I’m already down 2 servers tonight, and now Sam. Everyone’s sick. I shouldn’t be working half of the staff I got right now but I don’t really have a choice.”_  
Dean stared at the calendar.  
 _“Are you still there?”_  
“I could… take a shift?”  
There was a long pause, _“Dean, I couldn’t ask you to –“_  
“Look, I’m sure I’ll be fine. You need the help, right?”  
 _“Yeah, but, Dean… are you sure you’ll be okay?”_  
Dean closed his eyes, “I mean it’s not really an even trade but I’m better than nothing.”

…

“Sam, wake up.”  
Sam moaned, his head feeling full and heavy.  
“Come on, man. You need to have this medicine then you can go back to sleep.”  
Sam’s eyes felt glued shut. He could feel Dean’s cold hands moving over him, turning him over. His throat was raw and his head throbbed with pressure. He felt awful.  
“Crap!” he rasped, forcing his eyes open, trying to sit up while Dean’s hands held him down, “What’s the time? Your appointment, Dean.”  
“Shh. Would you relax? Taxi’s booked. I’ll be fine. You need to take these pills and rest.”  
Sam sagged back, giving up the fight.   
“You need to take your scans.”  
“Dude, I know,” Dean whispered angrily.  
Sam sighed, coughed over his shoulder.  
“Drink this,” Dean handed him a glass of water, “Take these,” he pressed the pills on him, “And get some sleep.”  
Sam swallowed the pills and sniffed wetly.   
“I’ll bring you the tissue box,” Dean pushed himself up from where he sat on Sam’s bed and groaned, a deep rumble in his chest that he made only when he was really hurting.  
“Dean, no, sit down.”  
“Dammit, Sam. I’m fine!” Dean was gripping onto the edge of Sam’s dresser, knuckles turning white.  
Sam sneezed into his elbow, and when he looked up Dean had gone. He came back a few minutes later with tissues and a damp washcloth. He placed the box at Sam’s hip and handed him the cloth.   
“Thanks,” Sam mumbled, feeling terrible at making Dean look after him like this, but useless to really stop him.   
“Don’t thank me,” Dean grumbled, “After I get back from the hospital I’m going out.”  
“Where you going?” Sam said, crawling back under his covers and rolling onto his side.  
“ _Out_ , alright? Don’t worry, I’m not driving.”  
Sam nodded, feeling the pull of sleep.  
“Get some sleep, Sammy.”  
“Take your cane with you.”  
He heard Dean laugh, “Yeah, okay.”

…

“Well, the scans are looking good,” Dr Reid said, sitting down in front of him, “The herniation that they weren’t able to remove is still going to give you some neural pain down your legs but since those bones have been fused things should start to get better.”  
Dean nodded.  
“How are you finding using the cane?”  
Dean shifted in his seat, “It’s alright.”  
“You understand how important walking is while you’re healing. There’s not much other exercise you can do so we have to get you up and walking as soon as possible, hence the cane. If you’re feeling better and it’s not too painful, you can try not using it all the time.”  
Dean almost smiled.  
“As long as you keep attending rehabilitation and doing your stretches and exercises at home.”  
“Sure thing.”  
“And I’m happy for you to start driving again. Short distances.”  
“Well, hell, doc. You just made my day.”  
“Where’s your brother today?”  
Dean smiled towards the ground, “He’s, uh, home sick.”  
“Oh, dear. Well give him my best.”  
“You got it.”  
“Oh and Dean, I got your blood work back this morning.”  
“Yeah?” Dean shifted again, back cramping.  
“Your liver function test was slightly abnormal.”  
“Oh? What does that mean?”  
“Well, there’s increased liver enzymes in your blood. That usually happens if the liver is inflamed or under some sort of stress. It could be all the pain medication that you’ve been taking, could also be from a virus, but it can also be from alcohol consumption.”  
Dean tilted his head, pretending not to understand.  
“It could be a combination of things, but I’d like to check it again in a month to make sure whatever it was has settled down.”  
“Fine,” Dean grumbled.  
“Dean, I know what alcohol can be to some people… and I know the damage it can do. Promise me you’ll try and look after yourself a bit more.”  
Dean swallowed and nodded, choosing not to meet the doctor’s eyes.  
“If everything goes well, I won’t need to see you again for another few months, but make sure you let me know if anything comes up that makes you uneasy.”  
“Absolutely. Thanks, doc.”

…


	3. Chapter 3

Dean bent over his brother, pressing his hand to his sweaty forehead. He was still a little warm but not alarmingly so.   
"Dean?"   
Sam's bleary eyes opened and he curled on his side as he coughed.   
"Hey, Sammy. How ya feeling?" Dean couldn't stay bent over forever so he dumped himself heavily onto the edge of Sam's bed.   
"I'm okay," Sam rubbed his eyes with his hand, "What did the doctor say?"  
"Said I'm good to drive," Dean winked.   
"Oh... That's good."  
Dean huffed, of course Sam would be upset about that.   
"Yeah, and I don't have to use that stupid cane anymore."  
"But..."  
"No buts, Sammy. I'm heading out now. You gonna be alright?"  
Sam's eyes were already closed.   
"Mm," he moaned.   
"Tissues right here, there's Tylenol on the nightstand and a glass of water. You hungry?"  
Sam shook his head.   
"Well, make sure you get yourself some dinner later."  
"Where're you going?" Sam mumbled sleepily.   
"Got a date," Dean lied.   
"With who?"  
"Katie.”  
“The girl from rehab?” Sam asked, opening one eye.  
“That’s her. Now go to sleep."  
"Thanks, Dean," Sam muttered before he drifted off to sleep.   
Dean hated that he'd lied to his brother but he couldn't exactly tell Sam he was going to work his shift. Nothing would upset him more, or get him out of the bed quicker.  
"G'night, Sammy,” Dean gave Sam’s back a pat and a rub.   
Then got up, put on his jacket, walked out of the house _without_ a cane, and _drove_ himself to the bar. Things were looking up already.

...

He thought working would be good. He thought it would at least be a distraction. He was high on drugs, the painkillers making him a little slow, a little forgetful. But even then the pain seeped through the thick fog, dull, muted somehow, but never gone. Riley fixed him with assessing glances every now and again, but it was busy, and she couldn’t watch him all the time. He lined up some shots for a group of loud, obnoxious kids. Did one with them when he knew Riley wasn’t watching. He needed to feel something. His chest felt empty, cold, hard ribs encasing nothing, because he had nothing inside.   
He’d used his shoulder more than he ever had since this whole thing and his arm felt like it was going to fall off. His fingers started to tingle… on both hands.  
He sucked in a breath. One of those girls looked familiar to him. It must have been someone who looked just like her, that he’d tortured in hell. He remembered how she screamed and how that made him slice even harder.  
“Dean? Are you alright?” Riley’s hand was on his hip, fingers almost reaching around to his scar.  
The world went kind of hazy.  
“Okay, come sit down.”  
She directed him out the back, sat him down on something hard.  
“Do you need to take something?”  
Dean put his head in his hands.  
No. He’d taken his pills.  
His eyes drifted shut.  
“Dean.”  
Riley’s hand rested on the back of his neck, “When was the last time you slept?”  
 _Hey, that was a good question._  
Dean had no trouble falling asleep in his car, or taking a nap on the couch after he’d taken his heavy dose of pain pills, but the last time he’d slept through the night? He couldn’t even remember. He was probably running on about 4 hours sleep in the last 72. The only time he slept at night now was when he got himself black out drunk.  
“Dean?” she asked again, squatting down in front of him.  
He took a few more slow breaths, slaved off another panic attack that took almost all of his energy, and tried to press up to his feet.  
Riley helped him, but he was solid once he was up.  
“Sorry,” he said, trying a smirk, “I’m good.”  
“I think you should go home.”  
Well, he thought as much.  
“I can finish up…”  
“Baby steps, Winchester,” she said, playfully.  
 _Baby steps are for babies_ , he thought bitterly, his self-loathing kicking it up a notch, which had to be virtually impossible by now.  
“Should I call Sam?”  
 _“No.”_  
He turned angry eyes on Riley and he swore for a second she looked scared of him. He was used to that look. But it disappeared quickly, replaced with understanding… pity. That was worse.  
“Honey, you look exhausted. Thanks for your help tonight, but you need to go to bed.”  
Dean was hit with pain and panic randomly, the force of it changing his expression before he could think about it. Her hand was on his chest.  
“You okay?”  
Dean swallowed, forcing himself to focus on her hand, the pressure and warmth of it there. He slid his hand down, starting at her hip, ghosting over the curves of her backside. He left his hand there, gave her a tug so her chest was pressing against his. He breathed into her ear.   
"Come with me."  
Because Dean was on the edge. On the edge of what he had no idea. But he needed something. Sometimes alcohol filled it. Sometimes driving really fast, punching holes in the wall, ganking some fugly. Tonight it was women. A woman. _This_ woman. He needed to feel something.   
She licked her lips, could probably sense the primal urgency he was giving off, despite the fact he was frail. Broken.   
"Are you -"  
He knew what she was going to say. _Are you okay to? Are you sure? Are you going to break? Are you going to cry?_ The answer to all of them was yes.   
He pressed his mouth against hers, almost violently, to stop the words coming out. He couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear it right now.   
She turned soft under his hands and he knew he'd won.   
The night was winding down, the busy spell over. So she told Joe to lock up.   
She slipped her hand into the back pocket of Dean's jeans, hugging to his side, her shoulder tucked in under his own, so to anyone looking it didn't look like she was helping him, didn't look like she was holding him up.   
He insisted on driving. Because not everything could be taken from him at once. Not when he had so little left.   
They went to her place. It wasn't even a discussion. He'd never brought her into that house. He couldn't bring anyone in there. That was the place he was most vulnerable. She'd never questioned it, never even suggested. Like she knew. 

...

Sam woke up and it was dark outside his window. He felt groggy, off kilter from sleeping the entire day away. He snuffled, realizing he was still congested. Swallowing, his throat was a little scratchy, but nothing like it had been that morning. At least his headache was gone, the fog lifting.   
“Dean?” he called, clearing his throat loudly.  
Belatedly he looked at his nightstand.  
 _Went out. Eat something. Be back late tonight. Don’t freak out, I can look after myself. Take Tylenol.  
\- D_  
Sam rubbed a hand over his face, then swept it back through his hair. He cleared his throat again and got out of bed.  
After a shower and some left over pizza he felt almost human. He swiped a tissue under his running nose. _Well,_ almost.  
 _Shit,_ he thought. He hadn’t even called work to let them know he wasn’t going to be in. Maybe Dean had done it for him. He was sure he would have, but it was just polite to let your employer know yourself. He grabbed his phone and called the bar. Joe answered.   
“Hey, Joe,” man, his voice was rough.  
 _“Sam? That you?”_  
“Yeah, how ya been?”  
 _“Better than you by the sounds of it. You calling for Dean?”_  
Sam furrowed his brow. “N-no… Why? Is Dean there?”  
 _“You just missed him. He left with Riley about a half hour ago. He was a little ragged but it was a great help having him here. We appreciated him stepping up.”_  
“Wait… You – you lost me. What was Dean doing there?”   
_“Working the bar. Sam, are you sure you’re all right? You sound a little out of it?”_  
Sam could feel his face heating up, “I’m fine. You said he left with Riley? Was he doing okay?”  
 _“Well, at one stage he looked ready to drop. Riley sent him home but ended up leaving with him,”_ he laughed, _“But we all saw that coming.”_  
“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later,” Sam hung up as Joe was saying goodbye.  
 _Son. Of. A. Bitch._

…

He picked up the rusty jagged blade and forced it into her side. Feeling the skin tear. He gave it a twist just to make her scream again. He liked it when they screamed, her face contorting in pain and fear. He felt almost high from it, his body warming up, blood boiling, turning black… like his eyes. Black. Black. _Black._   
“Dean?”  
Dean started away, bringing his arms up over his face, ready to lash out.  
 _Oh God,_ it wasn’t Sam. It wasn’t Sam.  
Riley had moved away from him, getting out of reach. She looked shocked, frightened.  
“Sorry,” he panted, breathing rapidly, sweat beading on his chest. His heart was pounding.  
“Are you okay?”  
Dean closed his eyes, he needed to calm down.  
He’d never fallen asleep at her place before. He didn’t trust himself to. She’d never seen him like this.   
“You were… shouting out.”  
He cursed internally, “I’m sorry, Riley. I’m sorry.”  
“Hey,” she crawled back beside him, “It’s okay.”  
“You don’t need this,” he said, pushing her away gently and trying to get up.   
“Dean, stop. You don’t need to be embarrassed about it.”  
“You have no idea,” he groaned levering himself up. _God_ , his back.  
“You don’t have to explain,” she put a hand on his neck.  
It didn’t comfort him.  
“I need to go. My brother’s sick.”  
“He can look after himself,” she smiled, “You can stay.”  
“No, I can’t,” he dropped his head.  
“I don’t mind.”  
He shook his head, swallowing hard.  
“Is this why you’ve never stayed over?” she asked, gently, her breath soft on the back of his neck.  
Dean couldn’t hold his emotions in anymore.  
“Hey,” she cooed, running a hand through his hair. She sat beside him and and pulled him against her, his head against her chest, “Shhh. It’s okay… You’re okay.”  
He didn’t know how long the tears flowed for. He didn’t allow himself to sob. It was just a steady leak.  
He left.  
She begged him to stay.  
 _“Don’t go like this. Take some time.”_  
He was done with taking time. 

…

Sam sat at the dining table, fuming, steam almost coming out his ears. Dean had gone to work at the bar, because he couldn’t. Dean, who was 3 weeks post spinal surgery, 2 months post shoulder recon, had taken a shift because he had a _cold_. He was angry at himself for being so weak, angry at Dean for doing what he always did and thinking that everyone else had to come before himself. He tensed up when he heard the keys in the front door, ready to scream his lungs out at his stubborn, idiot, jerk of a brother… until he saw him.   
“Dean?” the word felt like it came out of a six year old’s mouth and not his own.  
Dean cast bloodshot eyes at him. His face was pale, dark smudges under his red-rimmed eyes. He knew he’d been crying, knew he was done.  
“Hey, Sammy,” he managed a weak, sad smile, “You look better.”  
Sam was up and grabbing him as he stumbled, leaning against the wall.  
“Come on, dude,” Sam whispered, “I got you.”

…


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was a friggen wreck. There were a lot of questions Sam wanted to ask, a lot of things he wanted to know about what had happened that evening, but just looking at his brother was enough to silence him. He didn’t need to know, not now. Dean didn’t need to tell him, didn’t need to justify himself, didn’t need to open up. Sam just had to be there for him. He just needed to look after him now. _Pick up the pieces_. At least that’s what Sam was good at.  
“You’re sick…” Dean mumbled, as Sam helped him to bed.  
“Yeah, well, you can look me over when we get you horizontal,” Sam joked, happy to see a smile tug at Dean’s mouth.  
Dean cleared his throat, “Been a long day,” his voice was croaky. Pain and sorrow and guilt…  
“I’ll bet,” Sam left it at that, seeing how Dean’s face hardened.  
Sam helped lower Dean to sit on the bed, he winced and carefully rolled his shoulder.  
“Shoulder hurting?” Sam nodded, sniffling, dragging the back of his hand under his nose.   
“A little,” he shrugged.  
Sam couldn’t believe the lines on Dean’s face. He looked like he’d aged _years_ in the last few months. He’d lost muscle mass from not being able to mobilise. He was gaunt, lacking colour, except for around his eyes, which was a tender pink, fading into deep purple bruises to show the lack of sleep. Sam took a deep breath. Maybe Dean was worse off than he thought… much worse.  
“You gonna stare at me all night?” Dean flicked his eyes up to Sam, annoyance evident in his gaze.  
“Sorry, dude. You need anything?”  
Dean sluggishly reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a bottle of pills. His hands were shaking as he popped one in his mouth.  
“Nah, I’m good.”  
Sam recognized the bottle as Dean’s heavy duty painkillers and knew he’d be asleep in a few minutes, which was good because he definitely needed it.   
Sam turned to the side and sneezed into his hands. When he looked back Dean was studying him.  
“I’m fine,” he sniffed.  
Dean grunted, “Yeah, sure.”  
Sam helped Dean out of his jacket and jeans and pulled back the covers for him.  
“Ice? Heat? Food? Anything?” he listed off, as Dean crawled under the covers, letting out a deep, weary sigh.  
“Just tired…” he mumbled, closing his eyes.  
Sam knew that was the end of the conversation.

…

Dean slept for ten hours. When he woke up his throat was dry and his nose was itchy. He didn’t know who it was. If it was Riley that got him sick, or Sam. It didn’t really matter anyway. All that mattered was this time he keep it under wraps, because if Sam was good at anything, it was feeling guilty. And Dean couldn't put that on him. Plus, the kid had enough to worry about as it was.  
His whole body was sore. It was different to the usual pain in his back. Now it was all over. An ache in his muscles, needles of pain stabbing into his bones, his joints. And his head felt like the size of Texas.   
When his eyes focused he could see Sam standing at his bedroom door.  
“Thought you were never gonna wake up,” he smirked. His voice was husky.  
“Did I…” Dean waved a hand.  
“Nah, man. You slept like a baby.”  
Dean snorted, “Well, what do ya know.”  
Sam walked towards him, “You feeling okay?”  
Geez, Sam had a nose on him like a bloodhound.  
“I’m fine. Need more drugs…”  
“I’ll grab ‘em. Sit tight.”  
Dean sat up on the edge of his bed and scrubbed his face with both hands. Like a tidal wave, the memories of the previous night came flooding back. First he was reminded of how friggen useless he’d been at the bar. How the people looked at him like he was broken, weak. How he’d flashed back, lost his grip on reality. How Riley had to be gentle. The way she held his head as his tears stained her arms and chest. How he cried till he was dry, till there was nothing left.  
“Here, man.”  
Sam was in front of him, holding out a pill and a glass of water.  
Dean grabbed it with a grunt and tossed it back.  
God, he needed a drink.  
Sam ducked to the side, coughing hard into his shoulder. It was phlegmy, harsh.  
Dean couldn’t help but stare at him.  
 _You’re not doing your job_ , he thought to himself.  
“Sorry,” Sam mumbled, “I’m okay.”  
“You don’t sound okay,” Dean cleared his throat, trying not to sound husky himself.   
“I’m fine, it’s just a cough.”  
Dean nodded, letting it go for now.  
“Heard from Bobby?” Dean asked, because in his state he couldn’t look out for Sam, and he couldn’t expect Sammy to look out for him.  
“He’s working a case in Florida, said he’ll swing by when he’s done, shouldn’t be more than a couple’a days.”  
Dean sniffed discreetly, “Awesome.”  
“I’ll, um,” Sam backed towards the door, “I’ll give you a minute.”  
Dean nodded, “Hey, Sam.”  
Sam stopped, “Yeah?”  
“I missed rehab, didn’t I?”  
Sam rubbed the back of his neck “Yeah, I called up for you. They moved you to tomorrow instead.”  
“’Kay.”  
The second Sam left the room Dean wobbled over to his duffle bag and pulled out a bottle. Two mouthfuls of scotch down the hatch. He winced at it. It _burned_. 

…

Dean was drunk by the time he was showered, dressed, and presentable enough to leave his room. It didn’t matter that it was only 2pm on a weekday. He stumbled on his way down the hall, bracing against the wall as his back spasmed.   
“You okay?” Sam came around the corner, hearing the ruckus.  
Dean grinned, giving Sam a thumbs up.  
Sam laughed, “You’re in a good mood.”  
“Come on, Sammy,” Dean chuckled, limping towards him, “Don’t kill my buzz.”  
“Alright,” Sam shrugged, “You sure you shouldn’t be using your cane still?”  
“Shut up,” Dean whined, pushing past him.  
Sam followed him and watched him as he carefully sat down on the couch.  
“So, what else did the doctor say yesterday?”  
Dean waved a hand, “Nothing. Everything’s fine. Fit as a fiddle.”  
Sam narrowed his eyes, “Do you wanna go for a walk before I leave for work?”  
Dean rubbed a hand up and down his thigh.  
“You’re going to work?” he questioned, “You’re hacking up a lung.”  
Sam rolled his eyes, “I’m fine.”  
“Well then, get in the kitchen and make me some lunch. I’m starving.”

…

Sam could tell something wasn’t quite right with Dean. He was too… _happy_. Sam hated himself for thinking it, but it just wasn’t Dean these days. He barely smiled, never laughed, never joked, unless it was at his own expense, and even then it was more sad than anything. He didn’t realize until Dean completely bumped into him in the kitchen, spilling his juice on the bench.  
“Dude, what the hell?”  
“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean chuckled, wiping the juice up with his sleeve.  
“Dean, look at me.”  
Dean gave him a quick, annoyed glance, “What’s your problem?”  
“Are you drunk?”  
Dean snorted, then coughed, “Leave me alone, man.”  
“Dean,” Sam grabbed his shoulder, turning him to look at him, being gentle as ever, “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”  
Dean shook him off but didn’t answer.  
“Dammit, Dean. You can’t do this.”  
Dean turned fiery eyes on him and Sam thought he was about to get his head punched in.  
“I said, leave me alone.”  
“You’re going to kill yourself! You can’t drink like that and take those pills.”  
Dean stumbled back towards the couch and sat down, turning the volume of the TV up.  
“Dean, please.”  
“I thought you were going to work,” he grumbled.  
“Can I really leave you like this?” Sam sighed.  
Dean glared at him and Sam sighed once more.   
_Well played, idiot._   
“Fine.”

…

Dean sat on the back steps, the inky black sky closing around him. It was a bit cold out. The air hurt his lungs, and the whiskey burnt his throat. Outside he could hear the neighbours, clanging around getting dinner. Kids laughing and crying. Dogs barking. Crickets chirping. The sound of tyres rushing against the road. He tried to focus on that, on those sounds. Not the sounds of his own ragged breathing, of his heart pounding in his chest, his pulse loud in his ears. He felt like crap. His head was thumping and he was snotty and phlegmy. Fresh air was good for that, right?  
He coughed loudly and openly towards his knees, took a sip of whiskey to numb the pain in his throat. It didn’t really help.   
“ _Hhh’tscht_!” he stifled, head jerking towards his chest.   
He took a snotty snuffle and jerked with two more. He panted through his mouth.   
“Well, this sucks,” he informed the universe.  
He took a moment to clear his throat.  
Sam wasn’t home. He could be sick. He could be weak. He could cough out loud. He could blow his nose, and no one would care. No one would care that he was sick.  
 _No one would care._  
He was coughing into his sleeve, feeling weak and sweaty, when he heard the front door open. He tensed up. The tension eased when he heard Sam’s barking cough. It was just Sam. He didn’t have to fight. But Sam was home early, and Dean was sitting outside, drinking a bottle of whiskey, next to a pile of snotty toilet paper. _Crap._   
“Dean?”   
Shit, the kid sounded awful.  
Dean cleared his throat, tried not to groan out loud as he grabbed the railing of the stairs to stand up, he failed.   
“Sam?” he left the evidence on the back steps and got inside as quick as his body would allow, “You’re back early.”  
“Ye –“ Sam was cut off when he started coughing again, doubling over.   
“Alright, come on,” Dean got straight into big brother mode and pushed Sammy towards his bedroom.   
Sam crawled into bed and Dean pulled the cover over him, “You take something?”  
Sam nodded, “Yeah. I’m okay.”  
“Sure, brother,” Dean patted his head, “Sleep it off.”  
Dean began pulling Sam’s door shut behind him.  
“Leave it open,” Sam groaned, concern in his voice.  
“Alright, dude,” Dean grunted, leaving it open a crack.  
He hurried out the back door and lent against the railing as he coughed. It was hard holding it in in front of Sam, and somehow it was already chesty. He glanced down at the things he’d left on the steps and rolled his eyes at how pathetic he was that he could hardly bend to pick them up. He used his foot to push the scrunched up toilet paper off the steps into the garden. He braced himself as he bent to grab the almost empty bottle. He couldn’t waste a drop.   
As he screwed the lid back on and shuffled inside he hoped Bobby would be there soon. Because their little life they’d created here was on shaky ground, built on a cracking foundation, and Dean could only wait and watch as everything eventually came crashing down.

…

Bobby was supposed to be there in a few days, but the hunt went sideways, as it often did, and a few days turned into a week… two weeks. Sam was better now, but Dean couldn’t shake it. As he knew it would, his cold settled down deep in his lungs. It could have been the fact that he wasn’t allowing himself to cough when he needed to, or that at night he lay curled on his side choking into a towel he had clamped hard against his face so Sam didn’t hear him. He’d never felt so weak in his life. He’d started drinking more too, if that was possible. Because now that Sam was better he was back at work for longer, leaving Dean alone. Dean couldn’t stand being alone. Somehow Sam hadn’t noticed how sick Dean was. At first Dean thought it was a good thing, but then he started to wonder why, how he couldn’t notice.  
Sam was at work when Dean started to sweat, and shake, and feel like he was going to vomit. He hadn’t eaten all day though so why was he feeling nauseous?   
_Maybe because you haven’t eaten all day, dickhead._  
He got up off the couch and doubled over, clutching his midsection. He took a calming breath and straightened as the pain eased. He made it to the kitchen but coughed so hard he ended up with a mouthful of brown mucus.   
“Crap.”

…

Dean called a taxi and went to the hospital. The cabby kept shooting strange looks into the rear view mirror at him, like he was scared he was going to up and die in his back seat. Dean would have thought it was funny if he wasn’t worrying about the same thing. He supposed he could have asked Dave and Maxine to drive him but they’d tell Sam, and Dean wanted to keep it a secret for now. They’d probably just give him antibiotics and send him home with a pat on the back. He knew it was bad though, hospital bad. That he had bronchitis or the beginnings of pneumonia.  
When he entered the hospital and approached the triage nurse she gave him the same look as the cabby and he was seen straight away.  
 _It’s just a cough, lady,_ was all he could think. But they had him in a bed, hooked up to machines, and taking blood within minutes.  
They’d called Dr Reid in and when he walked in with a folder in his hand and a stern look on his face Dean knew something wasn’t right.  
“Geez, doc, I’m not dying. It’s just a damn cough.”  
“Dean… have you looked in the mirror?”  
“What?” he croaked.  
“You’re jaundice.”  
“In english, please,” Dean huffed.  
“You’re _yellow_.”  
“Huh?” Dean raised his arms to look at his skin. His muscles were weak, sluggish, and Dr Reid was right. He was yellow.  
“You’re blood test shows high quantities of liver enzymes in your blood.”  
“That’s not a good thing, right?”  
“You’re liver is severely inflamed, Dean. Does Sam know you’re here?”  
“No, and he’s not going to know.”  
“Dean…”  
“Do not call my brother. Just fix me up and get me out of here by the morning.”  
“That’s highly unlikely. You are an incredibly unwell man. You may have done permanent, irreversible damage to your liver.”  
“Well, then do what you gotta do, but don’t call Sam.”  
Dr Reid sighed, “Dean, is there anyone else I can call for you? Your uncle, perhaps? I think someone should be here with you.”  
Dean closed his eyes, “No.”  
“Okay,” Dr Reid sounded somber, “Before you sleep though, I need you to cough some mucus into this cup.”

…


	5. Chapter 5

“You _stupid_ son of a bitch!”  
Dean eased into awareness, smelling the sterile hospital around him, the sounds of machines beeping, people talking, his own chest as he breathed in and out. He cracked his eyes open and Bobby’s gruff face was fuming by his bedside.  
“Well, it’s nice to see you too,” Dean grumbled, coughing wetly.  
“ _Alcoholic hepatitis, and_ bacterial pneumonia. You almost killed yourself, Dean.”  
Dean sighed, rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand, “Lay off, Bobby…”  
“No, _you_ lay off!” Bobby shouted, “Stop being so _goddamn_ selfish, and think about your family for a change!”  
Dean was flawed. His eyes widened. He could hear his machine beeping more rapidly as his heart rate sped up.  
“I have _always_ thought about this family,” Dean started, took a deep breath, “All I ever do is for my family!”  
“Yeah?” Bobby raised his eyebrows, “And were you thinking about Sam and me when you took a fistful of painkillers and washed it down with a bottle of whiskey?”  
“Jesus, Bobby…” Dean rubbed his eyes again, feeling sick to his stomach.  
“No, you listen to me, son,” Bobby bent over him, put a hand on his head, “I know you’re going through somethin’. I know you’ve seen crap my worst nightmares couldn’t even dream up. But comin’ in and seeing you lie in this bed, lookin’ worse than most corpses we dig up, that _is_ my worst nightmare. So, if you’re thinkin’ about checkin’ out, goin’ off the rails here, drinkin’ yourself into an early grave, you got another thing comin’. Because me and Sam _won’t let you_.”  
“Bobby…”  
“I ain’t finished!” Bobby raised his voice again and Dean gulped. “I’ve already lost you once! I’m not gonna stand here and let it happen again. So, stow your crap, son, and stop driving towards the cliff!”  
Dean looked into Bobby’s eyes and slowly nodded. He felt tendrils climbing up his throat, his face heating up.   
Bobby handed him a bucket just in time for him to be sick into, not that much came up but hot air.  
Bobby’s hand was strong on the back of his neck, massaging, and if that wasn’t the biggest “I love you, and you scared me half to death” gesture, Dean didn’t know what was.   
“Ya’alright, son?”  
Dean nodded, pushing the bowl away.  
“How’d you know I was here?” Dean rasped, clearing his throat.  
“Your doctor called me when your vitals plummeted a few hours ago. Luckily, they got you sorted,” Bobby removed his cap and rubbed at his head. Stressed.   
“Sam?” Dean turned guilty eyes towards Bobby.  
“I didn’t tell him yet. He’s at the bar, I’m guessin’? Graveyard shift?”  
Dean nodded.  
“He’s gonna get home sooner or later and realize you’re not there…”  
Dean sighed, then coughed, “I didn’t want to worry him…”  
Bobby shook his head, “Son, I could wring your neck.”  
“I know,” Dean tried to keep a handle on his emotions, “I’ll call him.”  
Bobby picked up Dean’s phone from the side table and placed it on his chest. “I’ll go and grab a coffee.”  
Dean watched him go and picked up his phone.  
This was going to go down really well…

…

“Sam,” Riley approached him with a tray of drinks, “I need you to do these again. They ordered a gin and tonic, a vodka lemonade, and a jug of beer.”  
Sam shook his head when he realized his mistake, “Sorry, Riley. I’ll fix it.”  
She sighed and placed the tray down on the bar, “This is the third order you’ve screwed up. What’s going on?”  
Sam cleared his throat, shaking his head, “I just…”  
“Is it Dean?”  
Sam looked up at her.  
“Is something wrong?” She stepped closer, looking worried.  
“No, no… I don’t think so. I just… have a bad feeling.”  
“Well, what’s happened? Is he getting worse?”  
Sam shrugged, “I don’t think he’s worse, he’s just,” he paused, “He’s shut off. He won’t talk to me. He looks terrible. He’s aged so much… I don’t know what to do.”  
Riley put a hand on Sam’s, “Does he need help?”  
“I’m trying to help him as much as I can…”  
“No, Sam,” she stopped him, “Does he need _help_?”  
Sam huffed. He opened his mouth to respond when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He almost smashed a glass in his haste to grab it. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew this wasn’t good.  
Riley was looking at the screen, which displayed Dean’s name. She nodded, “Go.”  
Sam answered the phone as he slipped out the back.  
“Dean? What’s going on?”  
There was a long pause, beeping in the background.  
 _“Hey, Sammy.”_  
Dean sounded tired, sick, defeated.  
“Where are you? What’s happening?”  
 _“I, uh,”_ he broke off coughing.   
_Shit, shit, shit.  
“I screwed up, Sammy.”_  
“Where are you?” Sam said again, drawing each word out to emphasise the seriousness, even though he already knew the answer to the question.  
 _“Alexandria Hospital.”_  
“I’m on my way.”

…

Sam sat by Dean’s bed, bouncing his leg up and down, hands clasped in front of him, staring intently at his unmoving brother.   
Bobby entered the room and Sam turned quickly to face him, “What did the doctor say?”  
Bobby looked grim and Sam didn’t think his heart could take anymore.  
“He said Dean needs to rest right now.”  
“He’s been sleeping for 17 hours!” Sam shouted, pointing to Dean in the bed, unstirred by the noise.  
“Shh, Sam, calm down. Your brother’s a very sick man. We have to give this time.”  
Sam grimaced, huffed out an angry breath.  
“The doctor said he hasn’t done permanent damage. There’s no saying that he can’t get back to normal.”  
“Then why won’t he wake up?”  
“Well, he had a theory on that too.”  
Sam raised his eyebrow.  
“Post traumatic stress.”  
Sam felt himself well up, and turned back to look at his brother.  
“What do we do, Bobby?”  
Sam felt Bobby’s hand on his shoulder, “We do what we always do… We stay right here.”

…

Dean woke up coughing, and felt the bed being sat up higher for him.  
“Dean! Dean, Dean, hey… Breathe. You’re okay.”  
The coughing died down and he opened his eyes to see Sam standing over him, looking disheveled, unshaven, and sleep deprived.  
“You look worried,” Dean rasped.  
Sam sighed and slumped into the chair, holding firmly onto Dean’s forearm.  
“Don’t say anything… Just… don’t.”  
“Alright,” Dean shrugged, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.  
“It’s been two days.”  
Dean choked again, coughing into the crook of his arm.  
Sam hit the call button and slumped back, rubbing Dean’s arm.

…

“Ouch,” Dean flinched as the nurse gave him a shot in the arm.  
He was getting vitamin injections on a regular basis to counter the nutrient deprivation caused by the alcohol.  
“Baby,” Sam muttered, smirk on his face.  
“Sorry, Dean,” the nurse pulled his sleeve back down, “I’ll leave you with your brother now.”  
“Thanks, sweetheart,” as she left Dean turned to Sam, “I feel like a freaking pin cushion.”  
“Well, that’s what you get,” Sam whined like a little kid.  
“Yeah, so you keep telling me…”  
“Dean, I talked to Dr Reid,” Sam sat up straighter.   
Dean looked the other way.  
“He wants you to talk to someone… about your drinking.”  
Dean stiffened, closed his eyes as he took a breath.  
“I know you’ve been through a lot, but this has got to stop...”  
“You don’t get it,” Dean choked, emotion bubbling up.  
“What?” Sam looked surprised that he’d responded at all.  
“This isn’t going to go away, Sam. It’s not going to get better. This will always have happened to me. I can’t change it. I can’t forget the last 40 years… Hell, Sam, I was down there longer than I ever lived up here, and now I have to… go on like nothing happened? How can I?”  
“What are you saying? You better not be suggesting that you don’t… wanna _be here_ anymore…”  
Dean looked at his brother.  
 _Here._  
Dean knew what Sam meant. Not “here” in the hospital. Not “here” in this town. Not “here” in North Carolina. But _here_. Alive. On Earth.   
“What?” Dean screwed up his face, “God, Sam, of course not. You think after everything that happened I wanna… risk…” he trailed off, fighting back the tears. He’d cried enough. “I can’t.”  
“Dean,” Sam sighed, “I’m sorry…”  
“I’m trying, Sam. I’m happy I’m back. I’m happy I have you, and Bobby, and… I just… I’m _trying_.”  
Sam sighed, nodded, “I know, Dean. I know you are.”  
Dean cleared his throat and, despite his efforts, felt a tear slip down his cheek, “Well, good, ‘cause… this is all I’ve got.”  
Sam looked his brother in the eye, “You’re all I’ve got too.”

…

Sam’s head shot up from Dean’s bed, a cold wet patch on his chin from where he’d been lying in his own drool. _God_ , he was tired.  
When his eyes adjusted he saw Dean looking at him, propped up in the bed, nasal prongs in, TV remote in his hand, eyebrow raised.  
“What I miss?” Sam mumbled, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand, stretching out his back from where he’d been hunched over in the chair, head resting on the edge of the bed.  
“Go home, Sam.”  
“Huh?” Sam said around a yawn.  
“Go home. You look worse than me.”  
“I find that hard to believe,” Sam sighed, sizing his brother up.  
Dean took a few slow breaths before speaking again, like he was out of breath just from talking, “I can stay here on my own.”  
Sam shook his head, “Nah, I’m good. I just need another coffee.”  
“They’ll look after me here, dude. Get some sleep.”  
Dean coughed into his arm, rattling lungs. He sunk back into the pillows, looking like he was barely hanging onto consciousness as it was.  
“What if you… have a nightmare?”  
Dean glared at him, “Don’t jinx it.”  
He hadn’t had one since he’d arrived, but he’d just been too weak. There was no telling whether he’d shout out, lash out, hurt someone, hurt himself. Sam didn’t trust him there on his own.  
“Who’s going to… keep an eye out?” Sam argued.  
“I am,” Bobby stood at the door, fixing Sam with a hard stare.  
Dean coughed again, struggled more to recover this time.  
Sam stood up, “You good?”  
Dean nodded, even as he continued to cough. When it finally settled he had tears in his eyes.  
“Get outta here. I’ll be alright. I’m just gonna sleep anyway.”  
 _That’s what I’m worried about,_ Sam thought.

…


	6. Chapter 6

Bobby sat, reading a book at Dean’s side. He didn’t offer much in the way of conversation. There wasn’t much to say at this point.   
Dean was bored out of his mind. All he had was a tiny TV for entertainment. The only reading he ever did was lore books, and he only did that when it served a purpose, a means to an end. He huffed. Bobby glanced up at him. “You should try and get some sleep, kid. You look wrecked.”  
Dean coughed, “Can’t,” he said, trying not to sound like a five year old.  
“Put the TV on. Daytime TV’s bound to put ya to sleep,” Bobby said, tossing him the remote.  
Dean’s hand felt weak picking it up, weighed down. He turned the TV on and flicked through the channels. He flashed on a cooking show, just as a chef slid their knife under a raw fillet of fish and swiftly removed the skin. Hand immediately shaking, Dean turned the TV off. Bobby looked up.  
Dean tilted his head back on his pillows, eyes wide open, trying not to hyperventilate.  
“What’s wrong, boy? Ya’alright?” Bobby leaned over.  
Dean couldn’t answer. He tried. He tried so hard not to think about the knife, the blades, the rack…   
Bobby put a hand on his chest, “Feel this, Dean. Slow it down.”  
Dean put his own hand on top of Bobby’s, gripping. The knife went under the skin, between the meaty flesh.  
“Slower, Dean.”  
“He just – he ripped the skin off, Bobby. He sliced the…”  
"Dean!" He said firmly, "Listen to me. Listen to my voice. Stay with me. You're alright."  
Dean listened to every word that came from Bobby’s mouth. Because every word was important, every word grounded him. He managed to slow his breathing down a bit and eventually he realised he wasn't about to be flayed alive.   
"You're safe. You're safe, son."  
Dean closed his eyes, spoke softly, "What's wrong with me, Bobby? When is this gonna stop?"  
"It's alright, Dean... Just breathe."

...

Dean's fever spiked in the night and he started throwing up again. They had to dump another bag of fluids into him because he couldn't even keep water down.   
A guy came round to see him, from alcohol, tobacco and other drugs services. He put him on a withdrawal scale and tried to talk to him. Psychoeducation bullshit. Dean was too busy hurling his guts up to listen.   
Another vitamin B injection.   
Vital signs.   
More fluid.   
Dean was exhausted, shivering and shaking, beads of sweat running down his face. He knew he looked like shit. He could see the sallow colour of his hands and arms, so yellow in contrast to the white hospital shirt. The thing was, he wasn't embarrassed about looking like shit, about anyone seeing him so unattractive, yellow, pale, skinny, exhausted, puking everywhere, coughing up all kinds of shit. Because he was literally too sick to even care.

…

 _“Knock, knock.”_  
Dean let his eyes refocus on the window, snapping out of the dark void he’d been hovering in, listening to people scream. Now he could just hear the beeping of the machines, the hiss of the oxygen. Bobby had stuck with him through the night and he’d managed without major incident. He did have to be woken up several times though. Other than that, the puking and general feeling like he was going to die kept him awake.  
He registered that someone had said something. Not a nurse or a doctor. They wouldn’t have waited, they would have just walked straight in. He looked over and saw Katie standing at the door.  
“Hey,” he rasped, his voice not really coming out, unable to form words.  
“I hadn’t seen you in rehab for a while… I heard you were in here. Is everything okay?” She asked, tentatively, sitting down in the chair by his bed.  
“I’m fine,” he waved a hand.  
She smiled, “Alright, I trust you.”  
 _You shouldn’t._  
Dean leaned to the side, away from her, coughing wetly into a fist. He sucked in breaths, trying to swallow it, choke it down, but it wouldn’t stop.   
“Here, Dean,” she stood, “You need to sit forward.”  
He felt her hand in between his shoulder blades, guiding him to sit up further.  
He continued to cough. She tried to sit him forward further again.  
“Can’t… my back,” he got out between choking jerks.  
“Okay, then stay here. Slow breaths.”  
The coughs got wetter, chunkier, and she handed him a few tissues.  
He could feel his eyes leaking, face turning red. He had to struggle not to throw up. His abdomen and chest hurt so much already.  
Finally it stopped, and the tissues were full of brown mucus, flecks of new pink blood throughout.  
“I’ll get rid of that,” she used a clean tissue to wrap around the tissues in his hand and threw them away. Then she passed him a glass of water.  
“Thanks,” he struggled to get the word out, throat raw.  
He took a few sips, wondering how he could get himself out of this situation. She was pretty, and he was… yeah, he was _not_ pretty. At least not right now.  
“How’s your back feeling?” she asked, crinkling her nose, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you before – “  
“No, it’s okay,” he cleared his throat, swallowed, “It’s, uh… it’s okay.”  
“It’s a lot of sitting up in bed you’re doing,” she looked concerned.  
“You calling me lazy?” he smirked.  
“Yeah, a little bit,” she laughed, then paused, “Do you want to go for a walk?”  
Dean furrowed his brow at her, wanted to ask why she’d asked him that. Why she cared.  
“I don’t think,” he took a breath, feeling exhausted just thinking about it, “Maybe later…”  
“Okay,” she smiled.  
“Could this hospital get a decent vending machine?” Bobby was muttering gruffly as he entered the room. He stopped dead when he saw a girl in his seat. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”  
Dean cleared his throat _again_ , “Bobby, this is Katie.”  
Katie got up immediately and extended a hand to him, “I’m Dean’s friend from physical rehabilitation,” she said, warmly.  
Bobby looked at Dean and raised an eyebrow.  
“Friend, huh?” Bobby shook her hand.  
She turned to Dean, “If you’re with your family, I’ll just –“  
“No, no,” Bobby said, adjusting his hat, “I was just heading out to grab some breakfast. You can keep an eye on him for a few minutes for me?”  
“Bobby,” Dean groaned.  
“Absolutely,” she smiled.  
“Dean, I’ll be back in a few,” Bobby winked at him behind Katie’s back. Dean rolled his eyes.  
Katie sat back down next to him. There was a few moments of silence.  
“Do your want your TV on?” she asked, leaning forward to grab the remote.  
“No,” he said, way too quickly, way to urgently, “No… leave it off.”  
“Okay,” she said and shrugged, not even acknowledging the panic in his voice.  
Dean cleared his throat, “I meant to ask, what are you doing here?”  
“I, uh, volunteer down at the children’s ward.”  
“Oh,” Dean’s eyebrows went up.  
“So, I’ll be here all day if you wanted to stretch your legs a bit later.”  
“Thanks, but you don’t…”  
“Dean,” she leaned in close, spoke quietly, “I can tell you’re in a lot of pain, and I know you’re probably in here for other reasons, but you need to think about your back as well.”  
Dean didn’t want to admit it, but his back was really sore. Like, really sore. It was needles, it was hot pokers, it was hammers, and drills and jackhammers being jabbed repeatedly into his spine. It ached, it burned, it stung, it stabbed… and it was relentless. It didn't matter what position he was in, he wasn’t comfortable. The pain didn't lessen, it only got worse, and he was starting to think that, after all this time, and all this progress he’d made with walking, that he was going backwards, and that terrified him.  
“Okay…” he breathed.  
“And stop being stubborn and tell the nurses that you’re hurting,” she smirked and leaned back in her chair.   
“You’re bossy, you know that?” Dean teased, eyes at half mast, fighting sleep with all he had.   
She smiled even wider and folded her arms in front of her, “Go to sleep, Dean.”

…

Dean cracked his eyes open and the lights were off throughout the hospital, a strange glow coming in through the window. Katie was gone, Bobby was gone, the constant sounds from the nurses and doctors and other patients was gone. He was alone. Except…  
“Hello, Dean.”  
Dean turned his head and Castiel appeared in the chair beside him.  
“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Dean asked.  
“Yes,” Castiel responded, looking straight ahead into space.  
“What are you doing here? I told you to leave me alone.”  
“I was… concerned.”  
“You were concerned?” Dean raised an eyebrow, “Gee, thanks, gonna heal me then?”  
“I told you that I can’t,” Cas uttered, sullenly.   
“Then why? Why even come here?”  
“Because I care, Dean. Things in heaven are… complicated. But I must follow my orders, and my orders are not to intervene.”  
“How? How is _this_ part of some great plan? How does _this_ make me useful?”  
“They don’t tell me everything. All I know is, you must go through this to become the man you are supposed to be.”  
“By the end of this, Cas, there’ll be nothing left. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m barely hanging on here, man. I’m fighting with everything I have, but I ain’t got much left in me…”  
Cas looked at him in the eye, “You are strong, Dean.”  
Dean scoffed.  
“There is a purpose for everything.”  
“Alright, save it,” Dean groaned, “You really come here to give me a pep talk?”  
Cas sighed, “I came to… redirect your dreams. You often go to a dark place… while I’m here I can control it.”  
Dean swallowed, “Well, thanks but no thanks… I don't need you to do that. I need you to make me better. I need you to get me back in the game.”  
“Is that what you _really_ want?” Cas’s eyes bore into him, questioning.  
Dean furrowed his brow, “Yes.”  
“Hmm,” Cas hummed, “I’m not convinced.”  
“You don’t think I’ve been through _enough_?” Dean spat through gritted teeth.  
“That’s it though, isn’t it? You don’t want to be in this fight, not anymore. Not that you’ve found something, however fragile, you have a home here, a life.”  
“Don’t pretend to know. Don’t pretend you get it… _You weren’t there._ ”  
“Dean…”  
“Leave.”  
“If I leave –“  
“Leave!”  
Cas looked somber, “Very well.”  
As Cas flashed away Dean felt himself falling into blackness. He snagged himself on wire hooks, driving into his sides, his shoulder. There was blood in his ears, knives in his throat. The pain, and fear, all consuming, never ending.  
“Dean, wake up.”  
Dean shielded his face, cowered down in his bed.  
 _Stop, God, please stop._  
“Dean, it’s okay,” it was a soft female voice.  
 _It’s not real. It’s a trick. It’s not real._  
“Hey, look at me.”  
 _Don’t look at her. It’s a trick._  
“It’s not a trick, Dean. I’m right here. Just look at me. Come back.”  
Dean cracked an eye open, arms still protectively covering his face.   
“Do you remember where you are?”  
Dean swallowed past the lump in his throat. Everything hurt. But this pain was different. It didn’t feel like hell. He could hear Sammy’s voice in his head. _“You got out, remember? You’re not there…”_  
“Dean?”  
“Huh?” he muttered.  
“Do you remember where you are?”  
He slowly lowered his arms, muscles quivering from exertion.  
“Yeah, I… sorry.”  
“It’s okay,” she smiled, “It happens to you a lot, doesn’t it?”  
“What?” he asked, immediately on the defense.  
She ignored his tone, “When I lost my leg… the car accident was a wreck. It was nighttime. I was driving on an empty road, not another car in sight. I saw his lights coming and by the time I turned my head to look he’d slammed into me, sent the car rolling down a ditch into the trees. I was in that car 2 hours and 47 minutes before they finally cut me out… I still have nightmares. I can remember every detail. I remember exactly how much it hurt.”  
Dean didn’t respond.  
“And I know it probably doesn’t compare to what you’ve been through, but I know what it’s like to feel like no one will listen, that no one cares… but I do, and I will listen… So, if you ever need to talk about it.”  
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Dean’s mouth was dry, words barely making it out whole.   
_There’s no way I could make you understand._  
“Okay,” she said, “No problem.”

…

Dean sat in awkward silence for a while as his breathing returned to normal. Eventually Bobby came back and Katie said goodbye, promising to come back and see him later. Bobby was quiet, observing. He knew something had gone down but he wasn’t willing to ask about it, it seemed. Which was good because Dean couldn’t talk about it.   
A doctor came to see him that morning, a different doctor, and he talked for what seemed like a century. Dean didn’t listen. He picked up on random words. The bottom line was though, that he wasn’t leaving today, or tomorrow, or anytime soon. 

…

“When’s Sam coming in?” Dean asked, playing with the IV line in his arm.  
Bobby looked at his watch, “Should be here soon, and stop playing with that thing,” he said, smacking Dean’s hand away.   
“Ow, geez, Bobby,” Dean whined.  
“Ah, come on, I didn’t hit you that hard,” Bobby smirked.   
Dean forced a smile, then glanced at the call button.  
He was in so much pain. His back was on fire, and his legs had started cramping up, toes tingling. If he let this go on any longer he was bound to have another friggen panic attack, and that was getting pretty old pretty quick.  
He cleared his throat, “Hey, Bobby…”  
“Hm?” he looked up.  
“Could you, ah, hit that button for me?” he asked.  
Bobby pressed the button first then asked questions, “What’s wrong, kid?”  
“My, uh, my back…” it was hard to focus his gaze.   
Nope, not a panic attack, he was just going to pass out this time… not quite an improvement.  
He whited out on the world for a few minutes, could feel himself being touched, being asked questions, questions he was answering back, although he had no idea what he was saying. He came back to it when someone was squeezing something into his line, and the pain ebbed, moved into the background.  
“Dean, how are you feeling?” the nurse was leaning over him, sticking a thermometer in his ear.  
“I feel… awesome now,” he slurred, as the drugs hit the sweet spot.   
“What’s your pain on a scale of 1 to 10?”  
“3 or 4.”  
Better than the 10 he’d been sitting on for the past hour.  
“I can bring you a hot pack for your back. Would you like me to do that?”  
Dean nodded.  
“Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”  
“You should speak up before you’re close to passing out next time,” Bobby said, gruffly.  
“What she just give me?” Dean said, blinking slowly.  
“Morphine.”  
“Awesome,” Dean smiled. Then he let sweet unconsciousness take him.  
…


	7. Chapter 7

When Sam went to bed that night he was running over in his head the cost of Dean staying in hospital another week, when his next pay cheque was coming and how much he'd earn if he started working double shifts. Even then he'd need to work hard for tips too... Okay, that was fine. He'd work till late, hustle pool in his breaks. _Shit._ They still would never have enough money.   
_Maybe I should get another job,_ he thought. But working two jobs and looking after Dean? That would be near impossible.   
He lay his head down on the pillow and thought about where Dean could be hiding bottles through the house. He'd have to have stashed the stuff everywhere for easy access. He wasn't the most mobile these days. He'd need to find it and tip it down the sink, all of it. He would not bring Dean back into a house that had alcohol. That was it. He was done.   
The alcohol and the money situation aside, Sam started worrying that he’d made a mistake leaving Dean in the hospital. Sure, Bobby was there, but Sam liked to keep an eye on him himself, make sure things didn't get worse. And he knew when Dean was really vulnerable, distressed, and caught in a PTSD flashback, he needed his brother.   
Sam swallowed, breathed out long and hard, forced his eyes to close. The sooner he got some sleep, the sooner he could get back to Dean. 

...

Sam woke up to the loud trundle of the garbage truck coming down the street. It was after 9 o’clock. He cursed and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. No messages. He sighed. He knew Bobby wouldn’t call him anyway, even if things had gotten worse, because Bobby was trying to look after both of them. _I’m not the one that needs looking after,_ Sam thought sullenly. He dialed Bobby’s number before he’d even got out of bed.   
_“Mornin’,”_ Bobby greeted.  
“How is he?” Sam said, sleep still in his voice, forgoing the formalities.  
 _“I’m fine, Sam. Thanks for asking,”_ Bobby replied.  
“Sorry, Bobby.”  
 _“It’s alright, son.”_  
Sam heard some talking in the background, knives and forks against plates, “Where are you?”  
 _“I just went to grab some breakfast.”_  
All Sam could think was _you left him alone. I trusted you to watch out for him and you left him alone._ He could feel his jaw getting tighter as he gritted his teeth.  
 _“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. He had a visitor.”_  
“A visitor?”  
 _“Yeah, some girl from rehab or something. Pretty little thing.”_  
“Oh, that’ll be Katie…”  
 _“That’s her.”_  
“Um… okay,” Sam tried to get his mind straight after that strange new development, “But how is he? How was last night?”  
 _“Not the best.”_  
 _I knew it._  
 _“He spent most of the damn night hurling. At one point his temperature was almost 104. He calmed down a bit after they put the cooling blanket on him.”_  
“What about the nightmares? Did he have any incidences?”  
 _“A few. Kid seemed pretty distressed any time he closed his eyes. But what’s new? He did have a bit of a panic attack this morning. Something on the TV set him off but I didn’t see what. Took him a while to come round from that one.”_  
“Could have been anything,” Sam thought out loud, a lot of things set Dean off these days.   
_“Dr Reid is coming in today to see how he’s doing.”_  
“Great. Okay, well, I’ll be up there in about an hour. I just want get rid of the booze in the house, call Riley and maybe see if she can give me some more hours.”  
 _“Sam,”_ Bobby said, an element of sternness in his voice, _“Don’t you go working yourself into the ground.”_  
Sam sighed and lowered his head, “Do I have any other option?”

…

By the time Sam was in the car, heading to the hospital he received another call from Bobby. He kept the car steady, focused his eyes on the road as he pulled the phone from his pocket.  
“What’s going on?” he answered.  
 _“Boy almost passed out he was hurting so bad.”  
Shit._  
“His back?”  
 _“Yeah. He’s had some morphine now and is out cold.”_  
“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”  
Sam hung up and drove just a little faster.

…

Dean could hear Sam’s voice. He wanted to wake up. Mostly because from what he could hear of Sam’s tone, he was worried, stressed, frightened, and he needed to assure him that everything was okay. That _he_ was okay. But he couldn’t wake up. The morphine had knocked him around. He was completely out of it. Couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t move his body. He didn’t hurt though. At least he didn’t hurt. But he was nauseous, and felt just generally unwell.   
_“The doc give you an update?”  
“Yeah, they, uh, have to take more blood today to check his liver, possibly a chest xray too.”  
“What about his back? Are they worried about that?”  
“Dr Reid said he’s sending a physio down here to assess him. They’ll have to give him some exercises… Ideally he should have been walking but he’s been too weak to get much further than to the bathroom.”  
“Well, when he’s up we can try and get him moving. See how he does.”  
“Bobby…”  
“… He’ll be alright, Sam. It looks bad, but, I promise, it’ll be alright. We just need to keep focusing on our next move.”_  
Dean struggled. He couldn’t listen to anymore. He couldn’t have his little brother this on edge about him. Dean was the caregiver. Dean was the provider. Dean looked out for Sammy. That was it. That was his job. His _only_ job. And dammit, Bobby was right, he had to stow his crap, for everyone’s sake.   
_“Dean? You awake?”_  
Dean managed to moan, shift in the bed.  
 _“Easy, boy.”_  
The morphine clouded his head, made him even more sluggish, but he got his eyes open and locked onto Sammy.  
“Hey, little brother.”  
Sam smiled, looking pained and exhausted, but it was a friggen beautiful sight nonetheless.   
“Hey, Dean. How ya feeling?”  
“Like roadkill,” he joked.  
“Well, you look like it too,” Sam laughed back.  
“Gee, thanks, Sammy. Kick a man while he’s down.”  
Bobby stood up, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “I’m gonna grab a coffee, boys.”  
Dean nodded at Bobby, being silently thankful for everything he’d ever put himself through for them.  
“I talked to your doctor,” Sam said, face turning sour.  
“Yeah? When ya springing me?” Dean sniffed, glanced around the room.  
“Dean…”  
“Seriously, Sam. Let’s get outta here.”  
“Would you stop?” Sam said.  
“What?” Dean looked at him with honest confusion. As if he wouldn’t have known Dean would want to get out as soon as possible.  
“This is serious,” Sam raised his voice a little, “Do you realise how sick you are?”  
“Oh, come on, Sam. So I went a bit hard on the booze, I think I’m entitled to that considering.”  
“You know it’s worse than that.”  
“I know! Alright? I _know!_ What I don’t need is you reminding me 24/7!”  
Dean knew the minute the words had left his mouth that he’d said the wrong thing. For a moment neither of them said anything. From the look on Sam’s face he was still in shock. Dean was suddenly on edge, angry, bordering on furious. And it was only because he was so terrified. _God, I need a drink,_ he thought, licking his lips.  
A nurse came in. A new one for today. She introduced herself but Dean just sort of grunted in the affirmative and didn’t pay any attention. She took his vital signs, and looked between him and his brother.  
“Your blood pressure is a little bit higher than normal, are you stressed about anything this morning?”  
Bless her, she didn’t understand. She hadn’t met Dean and understood that he was stressing about something 100% of the time.   
He mustered a smarmy grin, “Not any more than usual.”  
“Okay,” she nodded, rechecked her figures, and then took his pulse and blood pressure manually.   
Dean rested himself back, tried to calm down. He could feel his heart pounding and knew that was probably what she was panicking about.   
When she finished she said, “I’ll get Dr Reid to come down and see you shortly.”  
“Thanks, Jenny,” Sam smiled as she left.  
Ah, so Sam was paying attention.   
“You alright?” Sam asked.  
Dean rubbed his fingers across his forehead, “Headache,” he mumbled.  
“Uh, Katie came and visited you?”  
Dean looked up with the sudden change of conversation.  
“Yeah, she did.”  
“Huh,” Sam hummed, “So, what’s going on with that?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“You gonna…” Sam shrugged, “hit that?”  
Dean chuckled, then cleared his throat, “When are you working next?”  
He wasn’t quite ready to talk about Katie. Yeah, she was a babe. Yeah, she was young and single… but she was too good for him. _Way_ too good for him. He had no idea why she was even hanging around. He couldn’t possibly understand why she would want to waste her time with him. It was hard enough to imagine why in hell Riley had wanted to, at least she was getting something out of it. _Yeah, shitty sex, where you just lie there and then cry afterwards. Ace. Brilliant. Fannntastic._  
“If you’re feeling okay later I’ll go in tonight.”  
Dean was glad Sam didn’t press the issue.   
“I’m fine here. You can go.”  
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Sam muttered, chewing on his lip. 

…

Sam and Dean didn’t say much to each other after that. Bobby went back to the house to get some sleep. Sam had almost read an entire book while he sat at Dean’s side. Nurses and doctors were in and out. They took him down for an xray, which showed his pneumonia was not responding to the antibiotics, so it was more meds pumped through his lines. Then he’d had more blood taken, a physio and OT review, followed by a long and painful walk up and down the hall, in which Dean admitted that he needed a cane… and more painkillers. After that Dean passed out from exhaustion.  
Sam almost jumped out of his seat when his phone started ringing in his pocket. He tried to get to it quickly, casting a glance at his brother to make sure he was still asleep.  
“Hello?” he answered, quietly, not even having read the name on the screen.  
 _“Hey, Sam. It’s Riley.”_  
“Oh, hey, Riley,” Sam kept his voice low.  
 _“Is this a bad time?”_  
“No, no. Dean’s just sleeping.”  
 _“Oh, that’s what I was calling about. I wanted to know how things were going.”_  
“Yeah,” Sam huffed a laugh, “Uh, he’s, uh…”  
 _“So, not doing so hot then?”_ he could hear the humour in her voice as she cut off his stammering.   
“I’m not quite sure when he’ll be getting out.”  
 _“Is he accepting visitors?”_  
Dean’s loud breathing, which Sam had been listening to for the last few hours, began hitching and Sam fixed his eyes on his brother, immediately assessing for danger. Thinking the worst, that Dean was falling into a nightmare, Sam was surprised when Dean sneezed so hard it woke him, bringing an arm up to rub at his nose, looking so confused it was almost comical.   
“What the hell are you laughing at?” Dean croaked.  
Sam had to grip his stomach he was laughing so hard.  
“Sorry. I’ll call you back,” Sam muttered into the phone, trying to contain himself.  
“What?” Dean sounded angry.  
Sam couldn’t stop laughing though, and when he managed a glance at his brother through tear filled eyes, he had a reluctant smile on his face.  
“Ahh, God,” Sam sighed, wiping his eyes, “Sorry.”  
Dean coughed lightly, then rubbed his forehead, “Glad someone’s enjoying themselves,” he said, but he didn’t sound annoyed.  
“Sorry, man. How you feeling?”  
“I feel like shit. My head’s killing me,” Dean sniffed and rubbed his nose again.  
“You’re not getting another cold, are you?”  
“ _God,_ probably. Why the hell not?” Dean rolled his eyes, then groaned at how it must have hurt.   
“Well, the drinking probably didn’t help boost your immune system.”  
“Yes, thank you, Sam. I didn’t actually need a response,” Dean jabbed, closing his eyes.  
Sam laughed, “Just go back to sleep, dude.”  
“Planning on it,” Dean grunted, clearing his throat, “Who were you talking to?”  
“Huh?”  
Dean cracked his eyes open, “On the phone.”  
“Oh. Riley called, wanted to know if she could come and visit.”  
Dean coughed, pressed his hand against his ribs, “What is this? A peep show?”  
“I think she just wants to see you, man.”  
Sam saw the look of confusion and self-loathing ghost over his brother’s face. So he continued, “I don’t know how you manage to pull the ladies when you look like ass though.”  
Dean smiled, as tired as he looked, “You underestimate the charm, Sammy. They just can’t resist.”  
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam moaned, “What do you want me to tell her?”  
“Sure, I guess,” he croaked, “Beats looking at your ugly mug.”

…

So, Dean had felt this cold coming on for about a day, but just chose to ignore it. Because he didn’t even think it was possible to catch a cold when he was still dealing with the effects of the last one. How was that even fair? _It’s not fair,_ he thought, _but since when did you deserve what was fair?_  
He’d woken up hours later, after his brief chat with Sam, to find he was alone. A note on his side table told him that Sam had gone to work and Bobby would be in later that night.   
He sniffed, sneezed twice, groaned, then coughed. He rubbed his face with both hands, hearing a gentle knock at the door.  
“Hi, Dean. You’re awake.”  
It was the nurse from before.  
“Hey,” his voice cracked, “Jenny, was it?”  
“That’s me,” she smiled, “How are you feeling?”  
“Ah… I’ve been better.”  
“I’m sure you have,” she began wrapping the blood pressure cuff around his arm. “So, the doctor wants you to have two hours of oxygen before bed.”  
Dean sneezed.  
“Bless you!” she chirped.  
Dean didn’t want the oxygen. Just because they used those nasal prongs, and right now he was having a hard time breathing through his nose at all he was so congested.   
“I’ll grab some tissues for you in a minute, Dean,” she said, checking his BP.  
“Thanks,” he cleared his throat.  
“Do you feel like you’re coming down with something?” her eyebrows were furrowed as she sent him an assessing gaze.  
“Yeah, maybe,” he agreed, the congestion muffling his words.  
“Okay, well we might do the oxygen through the mask tonight then,” she said, finishing up taking his vital signs, “Is there anything else I can get you to make you a bit more comfortable?”  
“Just tissues, thanks,” he rasped, rubbing his knuckles under his nose.  
“Alright, I’ll be back with your medication and some tissues for you. Your brother said your uncle would be in at around 7.”  
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean managed a smile as she left.   
When the nurse came back in Dean was staring at the wall, she had a newspaper tucked under her arm. She gave him the meds and placed the tissue box and paper on his table, wheeling it close to him.  
“I thought you might want to read something if you were bored. I know there’s not much to do when you’re feeling crummy.”  
Dean grabbed the tissues in favour of the paper, heartily blowing his nose, feeling like half his brain just exploded through his face. God, it sucked.

…

 _“Please, stop.”_  
A man cried. Dean could only tell from the voice that it was a man, the face was too shredded and bloody to tell at this point.  
 _“I didn’t do anything. Please. Please, stop. Ahhhh!”_  
Dean drove the blade into his side, squeezing it down between the ribs. Oh, it felt so good to deal out some pain.  
 _“I don’t understand… Ahhh!”_  
Dean sliced and chopped, and smiled as he did it. He didn’t care who this guy was, what he’d done, now it was his turn. It was his turn to hold the knife, to tear apart the souls on the rack. Oh, and the more this guys screamed, the more he _liked_ it.  
Dean woke up sweaty, panting, sobbing. His hands were shaking. He tried to forget the dream, say to himself _‘it’s just a dream’_ but it wasn’t. It was real. He’d done that. Over and over and over again. And he had liked it.  
He put a hand on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart. He’d only been asleep for fifteen minutes. While he tried to reorient himself his eyes fell on the newspaper in front of him.  
He wasn’t looking for it. And he probably wouldn’t have seen it if it wasn’t staring him in the face. The front page described the strange goings on of what could only be a vengeful spirit.   
**Is Hill House Haunted?** , the front page screamed. Dean read the article, which painted a pretty clear history of the house, half the work was done for him. He could tell that whoever this Professor Elliot was, was causing havoc and was now the reason two people were dead.  
Dean felt awful, but that dream had sparked something in him. He couldn’t lie around all day. He had too much to atone for now. He would never, he could never, make it right, but he could start somewhere. Killing evil. That was supposed to be what got him through. But he’d given that up, why? Because his body was failing? Bullshit. It wasn’t a good enough excuse.   
Bobby was coming in at 7. It was currently 5:41. He had just over an hour to get his clothes on, escape past medical staff, hotwire a car, and be on his way to Hill House. Dean grabbed some tissues and sneezed messily into them.  
 _Piece of cake._

…


	8. Chapter 8

Dean gripped the wheel tighter to stop his hands shaking. He’d managed to get out of bed, have a shower and get his clothes on, sneak past the nurses and out of the ward down to the parking lot, where he’d found an unlocked car, hotwired it, and was home free. Except his brain was foggy from the meds and his worsening cold, he was having trouble catching his breath, the pain in his right side was still lingering, his back was in knots, and he wanted nothing more than to investigate the bottom of a bottle of whiskey.   
Belatedly he thought about the trunk of this car he’d swiped, and how it wasn’t choc full of weapons like Baby was. That was okay. All he needed was salt and some matches… and a shovel, and a shot of whiskey, and salt, and whiskey…  
He coughed towards the back of his wrist, trying to keep the car straight as his vision blurred.  
“Come on, Dean,” he groaned, blinking hard, trying to focus.  
Maybe he was an idiot. Maybe he would end up back in hospital, worse this time. But right now, this seemed like Dean’s only option.  
He wiped the sweat from his brow and pressed the accelerator a little harder. 

…

Bobby was walking in the main doors of the hospital when his phone rang.  
“Hello,” he said, picking up the unknown number.  
 _“Hi, Mr Singer?”_  
“Yeah,” he said gruffly, pressing the button on the lift.  
 _“It’s Jennifer, one of the nurses looking after Dean.”_  
Bobby’s heart dropped.  
“What’s wrong? Tell me the situation.”  
 _“He, uh, he’s gone.”_  
“… What?”  
 _“His bed is empty. His clothes are gone. We haven’t been able to locate him on the ward or in hospital grounds.”_  
“Son of a bitch.”

…

Sam had a feeling something was wrong. He was sitting in the back on his lunch break, staring at his phone with unrelenting intensity. He should call them, right? Make sure everything was okay? He shook his head. It was stupid to worry this much. The hospital would take care of him. It’s not like they would kick him out if he had a nightmare. Everything was fine.  
 _Everything’s fine…_  
But it wasn’t fine. Sam had an ache deep in his stomach, a niggle in the back of his head. Dean was in trouble.  
He was about to dial when Bobby started calling. His heart was in his throat.  
“What is it?” he answered, his voice panicked and shaky.   
_“Dean’s done a runner.”_  
“Son of a bitch.”

…

Dean had the car pulled over on the side of the road. His hands were shaking so much now that driving was almost impossible. He wrapped an arm around his midsection, crumpling forward from the pain. He rested his head on the steering wheel. Every breath burned.  
 _This was a bad idea._  
His phone rung for the tenth time. Sam and Bobby had been calling him constantly. He silenced it but decided to send Sam a text, just to let him know he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.  
 **There’s something I gotta do. Be back in a few days. – D**  
He threw his phone on the passenger seat and started the car again. He just needed to stop off at a hardware store, and a liquor store. Salt, matches, shovel, whiskey. Salt, matches, shovel, whiskey…

…

“Excuse me. I need you to help me grab a couple of things,” Dean asked, voice almost giving out entirely.  
The young boy behind the counter of the hardware store looked up at him with immediate panic on his face.  
“Are you alright, sir?” he blurted out.  
Dean nodded, impatiently, “I’m fine. Now help me out.”  
“Sure. Of course,” he replied, still looking like he was about to reach for the phone and dial 911.   
“I need a bag of salt, matches or a lighter, and a shovel.”  
“We usually only sell salt during the winter time…”  
“Just get me some salt.”  
“Okay. Yes, sir,” the kid said, and hurried off out the back.  
Dean leaned on the counter, letting a cough escape. It sent stabbing pain through his chest and he thought he was going to vomit. He felt sweat prickle on his upper lip. He just needed a drink. Once he got a whiskey in him, he’d be fine.   
“I found a bag out the back… mister?”   
Dean lifted his head and the world tilted. He stumbled outside and threw up in the gutter. Surprisingly, the kid followed him.  
“Do you need me to call an ambulance?”  
Dean straightened and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “Nah, I’m good. You got the stuff?”  
“Well… yeah.”  
“Okay,” Dean pulled a wad of cash out of his wallet, spoils from his pool hustling days, and handed it to the kid, “Put it in the trunk.”

…

“He was here when I came in to take his obs and do his meds at quarter to six. He told me he wasn’t feeling well, he’d come down with a cold. I brought him some tissues. That was all,” Jenny shook her head as if trying to recall some minor detail that would have sent Dean running for the hills.  
Sam chewed his bottom lip, “And he just, what? Up and left? Without anyone noticing?”  
Jenny’s cheeks reddened, and Bobby put a hand on Sam’s shoulder.  
“No one saw him leave, but we are running one short tonight.”  
“Did he take anything with him? You said his clothes were gone,” Bobby took a step forward, trying to be a barrier between Sam and the nurse who’d let his brother unplug himself and walk off the ward.   
“That’s all. He didn’t have much with…” she stopped as she looked around, “The paper’s gone.”  
“What paper?” Sam gushed.  
“I brought him today’s newspaper to read. He looked so bored, and I though it would help him take his mind off things. It was on his table. It’s gone now.”  
Sam huffed out loud, not really annoyed at Jenny anymore, just annoyed at his stupid, pigheaded brother… and so _ridiculously_ worried. “Have you got another paper?”  
“In the nurses’ station,” she nodded.  
“We’re gonna need that, honey,” Bobby added.  
Jenny headed off, leaving the boy’s alone in Dean’s room.  
“He wouldn’t, Bobby,” Sam shook his head, “He couldn’t.”  
“Well, I’ll bet he did. Whatever he saw in that paper I hope the boy hasn’t got himself in too deep. Last thing he needs is a knock to the head.”  
“He can’t have got far, he doesn’t have the impala and the arsenal in the trunk.”  
“He’ll make do. He’s resourceful.”  
“Dammit, Bobby. What the hell is wrong with him?”  
“Kid’s hurting, Sam. He’s hurting bad.”  
“And going hunting, in _his_ state is going to fix that? How does that make sense?”  
“It does to him.”

…

Dean took a swig from the bottle of whiskey and shoved it into his jacket pocket. He felt renewed, alive, and, yeah, that probably wasn’t a good thing but he needed energy right now. He needed strength. And if this worked then bottoms up.  
He pushed the car door open and swung his legs around. It pinched his back.  
“ _Unnnngg_ ,” he groaned.   
He’d almost forgotten about the pain in his back… almost.   
He pulled himself from the car, sniffing hard. He sneezed against his arm, grabbing a hold of the door to remain upright.   
Sam hadn’t stopped calling since he’d sent the text. He’d even sent back one of his own.  
 _ **Come back to the hospital, Dean. Please.**_  
Dean had ignored it, just like all the phone calls. Sam didn’t understand. Sam didn’t understand hell. He didn’t know hell like Dean did. And Dean never wanted him to find out. He wasn’t the same person anymore. He was walking around right now carrying the weight of the world, and it was crippling. It was suffocating. He had souls upon souls piled on his shoulders, their faces in his dreams, their cries ringing in his ears. He needed to do this. He needed to do some good, however small, he needed this, just to get him through another night.  
He slammed his door shut and straightened. He couldn’t even begin to catalogue the pain anymore. He decided not to think about it and headed round to the trunk where the kid had loaded up his supplies.   
Popping the trunk he leaned both hands on the back of the car, feeling the car give under his weight. He coughed openly, feeling the familiar tearing pain in his ribs. God, he needed a massage. He rubbed a hand across his chest.  
“Alright,” he croaked, “We got work to do.”

…


	9. Chapter 9

Sam saw the headline and knew what his brother had done. Bobby drove while Sam read through the article and did a quick search on his phone.   
“Greenlawn Cemetery, Bobby. That has to be where he’s gone.”  
“Boy’s gonna do a salt and burn in his condition?” Bobby grunted.  
“So, Professor Elliot was a lecturer at the local college for over 35 years,” Sam ignored Bobby’s comment and started on about the case, “There were rumours he was sexually assaulting his students but nothing was ever done. After he died 6 months ago, women started speaking out about what he’d done. _Geez_ , over 40 women have made claims… Guy’s a scumbag.”  
“You’re telling me,” Bobby huffed, shaking his head.  
“Anyway so he lived to the age of 90, died in Hill House where he lived and gave _private_ lessons. God.”  
“Okay, now I definitely want this guy barbequed.”  
“Yeah, no doubt about that… So the house was boarded up but college kids have been going through trashing it.”  
Bobby snorted, “I don’t blame them.”  
“Two girls that went in were killed in mysterious circumstances, more injured… Sounds like a piece of work ghost if you ask me.”  
“Your brother knows a hunt when he sees one.”  
“Obviously this guy has to be taken out but we have to make sure Dean doesn’t get himself in anymore trouble. He’s already been out for hours.”  
Sam looked out the window, clenching his jaw.   
“Going as fast as I can, Sam.”  
Sam didn’t look at Bobby, “Go faster.”

…

Dean was moving by sheer will power alone… and possible fuelled a bit by the whiskey. To be honest he hadn’t drunk that much, because even though he wanted to quickly reach the bottom of that bottle and forget the pain for a while, he needed to stay sharp, and also his right side was still aching and he probably shouldn’t put his liver through much more.   
He drove the shovel into the ground again, making slow progress. His back wasn’t up for this. He tried to tune out the voice in his head.  
 _You can’t do this. You’re too weak. You’ll never reach that coffin._  
He pierced the ground, harder this time, groaning out loud, because it hurt _so much_. He paused and leaned against the headstone, sneezing messily towards the ground.   
_You can’t do it._  
He closed his eyes, took a breath through his mouth because his nose was completely blocked, “Screw you,” he said, directing it to no one but himself.  
And he resumed digging.

…

Sam and Bobby took off in opposite directions, searching for the grave of Professor Elliot. It was pitch black now, only the light of their torches to guide them. Sam wanted nothing more than to scream his brother’s name, but he knew better than to alert the possible ghost that was hanging around, or any nearby citizens that were likely to call the police at the sight of 2 grown men, wandering round the cemetery at night. He scanned his torch across the graves. Dean had to be here. He _had_ to be.  
As he powered forward deep into the cemetery he started to hear it. A sound of shovel in the ground, earth being moved, turned over. What was more alarming was the sounds Dean was making, this panting, wheezing, almost sobbing cries. Every breath out, as the shovel hit the ground, was _forced_ out, voiced in a strangled grunt of pain.  
He couldn’t help it.  
“Dean!”  
Sam’s torch light finally found him, only about a foot and a half deep into this grave. He was shoveling quickly, but not effectively. The dirt was mostly going back into the grave.  
“Dean, stop.”  
Sam jumped into the grave, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder.  
Dean tried to continue, almost like he didn’t see his brother there, but his hands were shaking, slowing down.  
“Dean, please,” Sam said, close to his ear.  
Dean finally stopped, slowly raising his head to look at Sam. His eyes were glassy, face slick with sweat.  
“We have to…” he fumbled, dropping the shovel.  
Sam grabbed his shoulders, “I know. It’s okay. I’ll take care of it. We’ll take care of it. Together. Okay?”  
Dean smiled weakly, as his eyes struggled to stay open. Then his knees buckled and his head hit Sam’s chest with a thud. Sam wrapped his arms around him.  
“I got you.”

…

Dean refused to leave until the job was done. Sam and Bobby were making quick work of the grave digging while he leaned against a grave stone, legs out in front of him going numb. He couldn’t focus on the pain. It was everywhere. So intense that it buzzed loudly in his ears. He kept his eyes open, ‘cause he had to keep watch, to protect his family.   
He coughed hard.  
Sam stopped, head popping up out of the grave  
“You alright, Dean?”  
Dean nodded, still coughing into a fist. He leaned to his left and threw up in the grass next to him.   
“Dean,” Sam was climbing out.  
“Get back in there, Sam,” Dean’s voice was raspy, but he kept it firm, “Keep going.”  
“We need to get you to the hospital.”  
“We’d already be back there if you’d shut up and dig faster,” Dean groaned, adding a smirk just to reassure his brother.  
“Just… don’t die,” Sam said.  
Dean laughed, despite… everything, “I’ll tell you if I get a sense of impending doom.”  
Sam scowled and reluctantly jumped back in and resumed digging.  
As time went on Dean found himself struggling to stay conscious. The pain was next level. He listened to the rhythmic sound of shovels piercing the ground. He heard it when they finally cracked through the wood of the coffin lid, his eyes drifting shut. It would be over soon.  
Suddenly a ghostly chill washed over him. Sam and Bobby were out of the grave, Sam bending over the duffle, grabbing the salt, Bobby leaning on his shovel, exhausted.  
“Sam!” Dean shouted, using every bit of breath he had in him.  
Professor Elliot had materialized out of the dark and was looming by his headstone.   
As Sam turned, fumbling for his shotgun, the professor flicked his hand and flung him across the cemetery, the sound of an ominous thud coming soon after. Bobby got to the salt, and threw it towards the ghost, making his form flicker and disappear.   
Dean was scrambling to his feet, as the ghost appeared behind Bobby, reaching a ghostly hand towards his throat. Bobby gasped and clutched at his neck, hitting his knees, as the professor choked the life out of him.  
Dean grabbed the salt and lighter fluid. He shook it out liberally over the coffin and body that lay inside, followed by the lighter fluid.   
He heard Bobby begin coughing like he could finally breathe. Not good.  
Dean grabbed the lighter from his pocket and threw it in as Professor Elliot advanced towards him. He turned to fire mid-run, a warmth washing over Dean as the burning ghost passed through him.   
“Dean,” Bobby said, his voice rough.  
“Get Sam,” was all he said, sitting down on the ground, “Go check on Sam.”  
Dean had to sit down or he was going to pass out, the bad thing was, he didn’t know how he was ever going to get up again. All of a sudden he was hit with the pain in his spine, it would have taken the feet out from under him if he weren’t already sitting down.   
Sam and Bobby appeared, running towards him. Dean started to fall backwards as he relaxed with the relief that Sam was okay. They skidded to the ground beside him and held him in place.  
“Sam, shit,” Dean felt the air being forced from his lungs, “my legs… I think I…”  
“Shhh, Dean. You’re moving your legs. They’re moving. It’s fine. You just need some morphine, alright?”  
“God, yes,” Dean joked, embarrassed for even worrying that his back had finally failed and he was potentially paralysed.   
“Let’s get you up and moving then. Or are we gonna yabber all damn night?” Bobby butted in, voice hoarse and strained from being almost choked to death.  
As the two men hoisted Dean up, Sam made a small, almost unperceivable, moan of pain.   
“Ya’alright, Sammy?” Dean asked, a hint of stern brotherly command in his voice.  
“Yeah,” he nodded, but twisted a little, grimacing.  
“ _Sam._ ”  
“I think I broke a rib,” he said, flippantly, “It’s fine.”  
“Bobby’s looking you over when we get to the car,” Dean ordered, trying to get his feet under himself.   
Bobby snorted, “Obviously.”  
Getting back to the car seemed to take forever but at the same time happened very quickly.  
Sam and Bobby lay Dean down in the back.  
He lay flat on his back, coughing up the gunk in his lungs.   
"You should sit up," Sam said, bending to help rearrange him.   
"No," Dean panted.  
"Dude, you're coughing up a lung," Sam said, impatiently.   
"Nah, Sam... my back's worse... I can't..." Dean decided to finish the sentence there, dangerously close to a panic attack. Cause if he focused any attention on it...  
 _It's bad. It's bad. It's bad. It's bad._  
"Okay. Alright. Just relax," Sam said, a hand on his thigh.   
Dean closed his eyes.   
"Ahh," Sam hissed in pain.   
Dean's eyes flew open. Sam was gingerly holding a hand over his chest. Before Dean could even muster strength to comment Bobby was sitting Sam down in the front seat and reaching his hands up under his shirt.   
"It's okay," Sam said, although Dean could tell his teeth were clenching together, "It's not bad."  
"I'll be the judge of that," Bobby said.   
Dean smirked a little and let his eyes close again. His little brother was being taken care of. The ghost was history. And it was a job well done. Gold stars all around. 

...

"Well, it's broken," Bobby straightened, tugging the brim of his hat.   
"Thought so," Sam pulled his shirt back down.   
"And you're gonna bruise up nice."  
Sam huffed a laugh, "Been a while since I had a good bruise anyway."  
"Alright, well, you can have some Tylenol and we'll get some cream on that later. Prognosis is, you'll probably live."  
Sam smiled, "Good to hear. Happy now, Dean? Doctor Bobby's checked me over... Dean?"  
Sam looked into the back seat and Dean was out, head lolled to the side, white as a sheet.   
Bobby grabbed Dean's leg and leaned into the back.   
"Son? Can you open your eyes for me, Dean?"   
Dean's head moved slightly but it was taking him a long time to wake up.  
“Dean? Come on, Dean. Open your eyes, boy,” Bobby squeezed Dean’s shoulder, giving him a little shake.  
Dean scrunched up his face, “What’re ya shaking me for?” he muttered, voice thick with congestion.  
Bobby and Sam both let out a breath, “Just stay awake for us, son.”  
Dean brought a hand up and sneezed, not even successfully covering it as Sam saw a spray directed almost perfectly at Bobby’s face. Direct hit.  
Waiting for the cursing to follow soon after, Sam was surprised when Bobby just wiped his face with his sleeve and smiled at Dean.  
“Sorry, Bobby,” Dean slurred.  
Bobby put a hand on Dean’s forehead, testing for fever and wiping off the layer of sweat.  
“It’s alright, kid. Just hang tight till we get you back in a bed,” he moved his hand to his chest and rubbed comfortingly, “You did good.”  
Sam had to stop himself from gaping at the scene. He couldn’t help but think that in another life, Bobby would have made a great father, and then he realized… he already was.   
“Sit in the back with your brother, Sam. I want you to keep talking to him. Keep him awake. And be careful with that rib.”  
Sam smiled softly at the gruff, bearded hunter, clothes smeared with dirt.  
“What?” Bobby asked, showing the whites of his eyes under his trucker hat.  
“Nothing,” Sam said, but gave Bobby a look.  
Bobby shifted on his feet and tugged his hat, returning Sam’s smile.  
“Alright… well… Go on and look after your brother.”  
“Sure thing,” Sam nodded.


	10. Chapter 10

The impala trundled over a pothole and Dean winced, letting out a whimper as pain shot through his back.   
“Hey, Dean?” Sam said.  
He’d been muttering things throughout the whole ride, squeezing Dean’s sore shoulder any time he started to drift off. It was comforting but also a little annoying, because his body _so badly_ wanted to sleep, or lose consciousness, whatever the difference even was. All he knew was that he didn’t want to experience this pain anymore. He just wanted it to stop.  
“Mm,” he moaned, tensing his jaw as pain sparked again.  
“Remember the time dad dropped us off at Bobby’s and he was supposed to teach us how to track and use the crossbow?”  
“Got sick,” Dean mumbled.  
“We both did,” Sam laughed, “Remember? And we spent the whole week on the couch, watching movies and playing cards.”  
Dean smiled.  
“And when we finally got better he took us out for burgers and to toss the pigskin around.”  
“Best week ever,” Dean said with a lazy smile.  
“Your daddy wasn’t happy,” Dean heard Bobby mutter from the front seat.  
True. Dad wasn’t happy when he’d heard his boys hadn’t done what he’d asked them. Or that Bobby had high jacked their week of training and treated them to junk food, and sport, and card games. Maybe it was more the fact that he’d treated them like they were his sons, and like he knew better what boys needed. He did. And maybe that was why dad got so angry about it.   
It took Dean another jab to his shoulder to realise that Sam and Bobby had been talking more, that time had passed and he’d drifted again.  
“Dean? Wake up, man. Almost there.”  
“’M awake,” he said, in a petulant tone.

…

Sam looked down at his brother’s face, pillowed on his leg as he lay on his back in the back seat. His feet were up on the seat, legs bent so he could fit his big frame across the small space without twisting his back. Sam could hear him breathing and it was quite worrying. Dean didn’t seem to notice the crackles and the hitching. It sounded like he needed to cough but Sam knew he couldn’t sit up. His back was so screwed from attempting to dig that grave. What the hell was he thinking? What if he’d done serious damage and needed another surgery? What if he’d done damage that surgery couldn’t fix?  
“Sam, keep talking to him.”  
Sam looked up, not realizing he’d stopped, deep in thought.  
“Dean, man,” he put a hand on his shoulder.   
Dean’s face had been screwed up in pain the entire trip so far, but now it was lax.  
“Dean?”  
Bobby glanced over his shoulder, “What’s going on, Sam?”  
“Dean, open your eyes. Come on, Dean. Open your eyes, man… Bobby…”  
Sam felt Bobby hit the pedal harder and the car lurched, travelling faster along the road to the hospital.   
“Dean, come on. Wake up,” he was shaking him a little now, thinking that the pain of moving would wake him up.  
“Sam, he breathing?” Bobby said.  
Sam put a hand on Dean’s chest, leaned down to his face. There was a definite wheeze, but he was breathing.  
“Yeah, not well… Dean, open your eyes,” Sam ordered, firmly. “He’s burning up, Bobby.”  
“We’re almost there.”  
“Dean, I _need_ you to wake up,” Sam leant down and whispered, “ _I need you_.”  
Dean let out a little moan.  
“Dean!” Sam called, shaking him again.  
“Ahh! Sam,” Dean cried out, writhing up in pain.  
“Sorry, man. I’m sorry. I know you’re hurting, but you just have to stay awake. Focus on my voice, okay?”  
Dean reached a hand up and gripped Sam’s wrist.  
“What’s wrong?”  
“Sam, don't let me die…” Dean whispered, eyes glossy and tear filled.  
“Dean, you’re not going to die,” Sam furrowed his brow, fear and panic in his voice.  
“I don’t want to die, Sam.”  
“I know, Dean,” Sam rubbed circles on his brother’s chest, “I know. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”  
Sam caught a flash of Bobby’s eyes in the rearview mirror, as they turned into the hospital, parking out the front in the emergency bay. Bobby got out of the car.  
“I need some help out here!” he bellowed.  
Sam gripped his brother’s hand as a tear slipped down the side of Dean’s face.  
“Please, don’t let me die.”

…

Sam was glad to hear that Dean didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die, but living right now was so hard for him. That was the tragedy of it. He was in so much pain, so much physical pain that his body could barely endure any more, so much emotional pain that he was on the verge of a complete breakdown, staring down the barrel of catatonia, but he didn’t want to die, because he feared death more than anything. What he was going through right now, wasn’t even a fraction of the horrors of hell.   
The ICU medical emergency team arrived in black, pushing trolleys full of medical equipment.  
 _“… Oxygen sats… unstable… respiratory failure… get ready to intubate.”_  
Sam knew his brother was strong. He was stronger than him. Stronger than their dad. Stronger than anyone he’d ever known. And that’s why it was so hard to watch him break.  
 _“BP’s dropping… central line, normal saline… Dean, can you open your eyes?”_  
Sam watched them cut off Dean’s shirt. He would hate that. That was his favourite black shirt. Now, he’d have to go shopping again for a new one. God, Dean hating shopping, especially for clothes. He bitched about everything, even when there was nothing to bitch about, Dean would find something that pissed him off.   
_“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to move outside.”_  
Sam felt Bobby’s hand on his bicep. A nurse appeared at his other side.  
“Excuse me, they just need some space to work. Follow me and we can have a seat out here. Do you want a cup of tea?” She said, guiding them both out into the hall.  
Was this girl seriously asking him if he wanted a cup of tea? Seriously? A cup of tea would definitely solve all his problems. A cup of tea would stop him from worrying about his brother as they shoved a tube down his throat in the other room. A cup of tea would erase the fact that Dean had sold his soul and gone to hell. A cup of tea would change the fact that Dean had irreparably injured his back years ago. A cup of tea would heal Dean’s liver and cure him from his drinking problem and PTSD…. A _cup_ of _tea_ …  
“We’re fine, thanks. Sam, come on outside,” Bobby was pulling on him again.  
“I’m not leaving my brother,” Sam ripped his arm away, finally giving voice to the anger he’d had brewing inside.   
“Dean’s going to be fine. I need you to get your head back in the game, and get your emotions under control. I can’t have both of you going off the deep end.”  
“Bobby, Dean is lying in that room getting a tube shoved down his throat,” Sam’s voice was raised, bordering on shouting. He pointed back towards the room as he spoke.  
“Right now I’m more worried about you, Sam!”  
Bobby’s words shocked Sam into silence. He stood there gaping, unable to even think of a response.  
“Dean is getting the help he needs. I know that boy’s going to be fine. All I can see right now is you shutting down. You’re both going crazy worrying so much about each other.”  
Sam finally breathed, “How can I not?” he said in a small voice.  
Bobby sighed, “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

…

Bobby managed to get Sam to go outside for a breath of fresh air. He hadn’t even noticed that he had started to feel dizzy. Being outside in the breeze was good. They didn’t have any information on Dean at this stage. They needed to get him stable, test his blood, xray his back, ultrasound his liver, give him fluids, oxygen, antibiotics…  
“Sam, talk to me,” Bobby said, sitting down on a bench.  
Sam paced back and forth for a moment, chewing his lip before he relented.  
“What are we going to do?”  
“About what?” Bobby said, calmly.  
“About Dean!”  
Sam huffed a little in and out, chest heaving with his sighs.  
“We take this one step at a time… that’s all we can do.”  
Sam turned away, looked up into the inky black sky. There were no stars.  
He heard a flutter.  
“Hello.”  
Sam jumped, turning to see Castiel sitting on the bench beside Bobby. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped.   
“What in hell?” Bobby gasped.  
“Heaven, actually,” Cas corrected.  
“ _Cas_?” Sam gaped, “What are you doing here?”  
“I’ve been… watching.”  
“This is… this is great,” Sam said, “You can heal my brother.”  
Castiel looked at the ground, brow furrowed.  
“I can’t.”  
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Bobby grunted.  
“You’re an angel, aren’t you?” Sam said incredulously, “So heal him!”  
“I can’t,” Cas emphasized each word carefully.  
“Why not?” Sam yelled, jaw tight.  
“I have specific orders not to intervene.”  
“Cas!” Sam shouted, “My brother is sick! He might _die_!”  
“Sam,” Bobby grumbled.  
“He won’t,” Cas said, sounding sure of himself.  
“Then why?... Why put him through this?”  
Cas looked down again. “I came by your house. Dean wouldn’t let me explain… he was displeased.”  
“You spoke to Dean?” Sam stared at the angel.  
“Since our meeting he has warded your house against me.”  
Sam looked up at the sky again, light rain began to fall on his face. He closed his eyes.  
“If Dean doesn’t want to talk to you, neither do I.”  
“Sam, I –“   
“Cas,” Sam interrupted, “You have to go.”  
Bobby remained quiet.  
“I want to help…”  
“But you can’t heal him?” Sam asked again.  
“No.”  
Sam sighed, “Goodbye, Cas.”  
Cas looked from Bobby to Sam, and then he was gone.  
Sam wanted to punch something. He was so angry. He began pacing back and forth on the pavement, jaw working.  
“Sam, let’s go back inside. Dean probably needs us now,” Bobby said in a calm voice.  
Sam didn’t say anything, but he walked back inside, Bobby following behind him.

…

 _Oh, God, it’s happening again._  
Dean thought he was in hell.  
He felt the hard plastic in his throat. It was usually cold metal. Sharp. Tearing.   
He was used to all the ways a person could be tortured, all the ways it hurt. He couldn’t grasp a thought in his head. They were rushing through, tapering off, disappearing.  
 _“One, two, three.”  
Pain! God, the pain._  
He felt like his spine was melting. Liquid. Burned.   
_Burn, burn, burn._  
His head burned. His brain burned. Everything burned. He was churning up inside.   
He couldn’t see, couldn’t open his eyes. He could barely hear. It was like he was underwater. _Oh._ That was a new one. They’d never drowned him before.   
He was cold. He was so cold.   
He wanted to give up. He was so tired. He was in so much pain, and all for nothing. All to be in hell again. He wouldn’t get out this time. He couldn’t claw his way out again. Not again. _Not again.  
“Dean?”  
Sammy?  
“Hang in there, Dean. Please. We’re here, okay? They’re going to help you. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”_  
Dean felt a hand grasp his, and he felt his chest flutter. And somehow he knew… it would be okay.

…

Dean was in ICU for 3 days before he got moved to a ward. He had to share a room with an old guy who just had his hip replaced. He liked to bitch and moan about every other thing. Dean didn’t hold anything against him though, because nothing would be more annoying than sharing a room with him. He was still sick. Still had a cold. Still had pneumonia. He coughed all the time. Hardly ever slept. The nurses would come in and check him over, poke and prod him. He’d groan in pain. He was loud, annoying, dependent. _God_ , he was pathetic.   
Sam and Bobby took shifts sitting next to him reading the paper, reading a book, watching TV.   
Eventually he got a room by himself. He didn’t ask why, because he already knew.   
“Hey,” Sam said, walking in and pulling up a chair next to Dean.  
“Hey,” he groaned, voice hoarse.  
“How was your night? Bobby said you didn’t get much sleep.”  
“When do I ever?” Dean asked, flicking quickly through his TV channels. He wasn’t really watching he just wanted something to do to keep his hands busy.  
“Good point,” Sam laughed, but Dean heard the worry in it too.  
“I’m fine, Sam. Relax.”  
“I’m relaxed,” Sam said, then paused, “Dr Reid been in to see you yet?”  
“No,” Dean coughed into his fist.  
“Do you want the bed up?” Sam asked, fiddling with the bed controls.  
“It’s fine. Leave it alone.”  
“Geez, alright,” Sam put it back and sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples.  
“Did you work last night?” Dean finally put the remote down and looked at his brother.  
“Yeah.”  
“Working tonight?”  
“Yeah.”  
Dean nodded.  
“So, you got your… thing today.”  
Dean closed his eyes, took a deep breath.   
“Do you have to?”  
“What?” Sam looked surprised.  
“Do you have to bring it up, Sam? I know.”  
“Sorry, man… I saw they want you to have another MRI.”  
Dean felt his face heat up.  
“Would you friggen stop!? I know. Alright? I know I have to have another MRI. I know I have to go into that friggen small little tube where you can’t even breathe. I know I’ll probably freak out and make a scene. I know I have to have a psych review. And I know they all think I’m crazy, because I can’t sleep, and I do stupid shit like break out of hospital and steal cars, and drink booze when my liver’s already failing, and I scream at night. And I’m losing my mind staying here, Sam. I’m losing my mind, and everyone knows it. I’m climbing the walls, man. I can’t… I can’t do it.”  
When Dean finally looked at Sam his expression was pained, bordering on tears. And he wanted to take it all back if it meant Sam wouldn’t cry.  
“It’s just a speed bump, Dean. It’s going to get better.”  
“Will it? Because I’m still having trouble getting out of bed on my own, and what if I screwed up my back so bad it’ll never get better?”  
“Dean…”  
“Can you give me a minute?”  
Dean wanted to get up and walk away. Because that’s what he did. He walked away, slammed doors, got in his car and drove to a liquor store or bar so he could drown his sorrows, go hunting, punch something, kill something, stumble back home bloody and sore and magically he wasn’t angry… but he couldn’t do that anymore.  
Sam was getting up as there was a knock on the door and Dr Reid walked in.  
“Good morning… is this a bad time?”  
Dean tried to slow his breathing, rubbed a hand down his face.  
“It’s as good as any, doc. Pull up a chair.”  
Even though Sam was on his way out when the doc walked in, he didn’t leave. He probably knew Dean wouldn’t relay the correct information to him. He’d just pick out the most positive bits, the things he wanted to focus on and tell him that, make it seem like everything was fine. When everything would never be fine again.  
“How are you feeling today?” Dr Reid said, sitting down.  
“Well I won’t be running any marathons,” Dean joked, voice dry, face expressionless.  
“Okay,” The doc got straight down to business, “Liver results aren’t bad. We’re going to keep up the vitamin injections. Nutrition is a big thing for you, Dean. Alcohol depletes you of nutrients, so you need to be eating the right things. Which isn’t a problem here, but it’s something you’ll need to watch when you go home.”  
“Sounds delightful,” Dean offered, with a smile.  
“How’s your chest feeling?”  
“Still hurts when I cough,” He shuffled awkwardly on the bed.  
“And you’re coughing pretty solidly through the night, aren’t you?” Dr Reid asked.  
Dean nodded.  
“How’s the pain in your back?”  
The pain in his back was something he didn’t want to talk about. He didn’t want to give voice to it. Didn’t want to give it a name. Because it was so intense, so unrelenting.  
“Pretty bad.”  
He could feel Sam looking at him so he looked away.  
“Mm,” Dr Reid hummed, “The xray was good, it didn’t show any additional damage but we need to do the MRI to make sure we know where that herniated disc is positioned. We’ll do that after lunch today.”  
Dean nodded. He didn’t really want to talk anymore.  
“Now, someone from mental health with be over to talk to you this morning. We just think with what you’ve been through, the severity of the nightmares, and your little Houdini act, it’s better for us to try and help and protect you in any way we can. This is about providing you additional support, okay? So, I know it’ll be hard to talk about, but just give them a chance.”  
It almost sounded like he was pleading with Dean.   
Dr Reid must have seen that Dean was never going to respond to that so he continued on.  
“Tomorrow we’ll get the physio in to review you, and a dietician review. Is there anything you need at the moment? You can have some more pain relief if you need it.”  
Dean cleared his throat, “Sure.”  
“Alright, I’ll get the nurse to get you a painkiller. Do you have any questions for me?”  
Dean had to stop himself joking about giving him a bullet instead. Normally, that wouldn’t have fazed him, but with his mental health in question, he kept his mouth shut.  
“No,” he breathed, voice doughy.  
“Thanks, doctor,” Sam said, like the good little boy he was.  
“Rest up, alright?” Dr Reid gave Dean’s ankle a little squeeze and left the room.   
Dean sighed, felt Sam’s eyes on him.  
“I’m just tired, Sam,” he said eventually, turning his TV off.  
“I know,” Sam replied, pursing his lips, eyes wide and glassy with emotion.  
“You know I can’t stay here much longer, right?”  
“Yeah, I know,” Sam nodded, “But you have to let them help you first.”  
“ _One_ day,” Dean begged.   
“No, Dean, please. At least till the end of the week. I can’t do all this at home for you.”  
Dean felt that like a punch in the gut.  
“I don’t need you to do anything.”  
“Dean, you know what I meant.”  
“Yeah,” Dean didn’t have the energy to argue, “Can you, uh, grab me a coffee?”  
Sam furrowed his brow, “Sure, man.”  
Dean sneezed and Sam moved the tissue box over to his hip.  
“Bless you. You hungry?”  
Dean pulled a tissue out with clumsy, warm fingers and fitted it around his nose, panting through his mouth.  
“Nah, I’m okay,” his voice was full of congestion and he blew heartily into the tissue.  
Sam nodded at him, and left.   
Dean crumpled his tissue up and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. The day had barely begun… and he was already praying for it to be over.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean was sitting up on the edge of his bed, which was more than he’d done all day. It took the help of a nurse to get him in that position, but he was trying not to focus on the negative. Sam had stepped out while the psychiatrist came to speak to Dean. He was wound up so tight he was close to snapping. The knowledge that he’d soon be getting an MRI looming over his head. Besides that, his head felt like a cinder block, and his gut ached, and his chest ached, and his friggen back ached, and the only part that didn’t ache was his little toe.  
"Hi, Dean. My name's Dr Whittaker, I'm a psychiatrist working here at the hospital. Dr Reid has asked me to come and speak to you because we're a bit concerned,” Whittaker sat across from him with his clipboard in one hand, and glasses on the end of his nose like a friggen grandpa teddy bear.   
Dean held in a snort.   
"I understand you spent some time overseas in some aspect of the military. Could you let me know what that was?"  
Dean shook his head, "No, I can't talk about that."  
"Okay, that's fair enough. Your brother said you were held captive for several months?"  
"I'm gonna need to stop you there."  
"I just want to make sure I have all the details correct."  
"Consider them correct enough."  
Dr Whittaker nodded, seemingly unfazed by Dean's abrasive attitude.   
"How's your day going?"  
"How do you think?" Dean realised after he'd said it that he needed to cooperate if he wanted this to end, "Sorry. I'm just a little on edge."  
"That's quite alright. Is there anything particular you're on edge about?"  
Dean cleared his throat, rubbed a hand over his face, "I guess having the, uh, MRI... I'm not a fan of... that machine."  
"And what do you think it is about the MRI machine that puts you on edge?"  
Dean felt the dirt hit his face, could taste it on his tongue.   
"I don't like... small spaces."  
"Have you always been afraid of small spaces?"   
"No."  
"Can you think of an event that triggered this fear?"  
Dean felt the air being sucked out of the room.   
"Yes."  
"Do you want to share it with me?"  
"No."  
"Okay. That's okay. Why don't we talk about something else. I understand you've been having nightmares. Could you tell me about that?"  
"I'd rather not."  
"I think we need to explore some of the things you're going through. So I would appreciate it if you'd share something with me."  
Dean nodded.   
"Are the nightmares related to the time you served?"  
Dean cleared his throat, "Yes."  
"And do they happen only when you're asleep or when your eyes are closed as well?"   
"Sometimes when I close my eyes. Always when I'm asleep."  
"Do you have any moments during the day, maybe when you're doing something normal, like watching tv or taking a shower, where you find you have these "waking" nightmares? Perhaps where you lose a sense of time or place?"  
"Yes."  
"How often would these occur?"  
"A couple'a times a day. Sometimes I don't know I'm doing it. My brother sort of... snaps me back."   
"Are there certain things that you find triggering this?"  
Dean remembered the knife glide under the skin of the fish from the cooking program on tv.   
He cleared his throat again, "Sometimes I'll see something on tv..." his chest tightened.  
"Dean, what are you experiencing right now?"  
Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It hurt.   
"Sorry," he muttered.   
"That's okay. Can you tell me what's bothering you?"   
"It's nothing," he opened his eyes, tried for a smirk, "Just not feeling too well."  
"Are you okay if we talk about this a bit more? I can come back another time..."  
"No," Dean said, quickly. He didn't want this dragging out to another day, "Keep going."  
Dean coughed into his fist, felt his chest spasming. The shrink waited for him to finish.   
"So when you have the nightmares, what's the overall feeling you get from them?"  
 _Terror. Pain. Guilt._   
"I don't know what you mean."  
"How do they make you feel? If you could use one word."  
Dean breathed out, "There... there aren't words."   
"Okay," he nodded, "Dean, do you ever hear voices in your head?"  
"I'm not insane."  
"I wasn't saying that at all. But it seems to me that you're going through a lot right now and I just want to make sure I'm able to help you the best that I can."  
Dean coughed again, "No, I don't hear voices," he said, bluntly. Even though... _did the screams count?_  
"Have you ever had negative thoughts? Like maybe you didn't want to be here anymore, that you might hurt yourself?"  
Dean felt the anger creep up his neck.   
"No," he said firmly, wanting to say so much more but biting his tongue.   
"Do you feel safe here at the hospital?"  
"I guess."  
"Do you feel safe at home with your brother?"  
"Sure."  
"Well, that's good. And does your brother help you out?"  
"Yeah... he's a good kid."  
"Now, can you tell me why you left the hospital last week?"  
"There was something I had to do..."  
"Could you tell me what that was?"  
"No."  
"Okay...” Dr Whittaker scrawled on his paper as he spoke, he looked up once again, “Dean, is there anything you can tell me about the time you were away for? About what might have happened while you were held captive?"  
Dean set his jaw, narrowed his eyes. Dr Whittaker folded his hands across his clipboard.   
"I've dealt with a lot of soldiers, Dean. Some of them feel frightened, some of them feel guilty about things they may have done to survive. A lot of breakthroughs they have, is when they finally open up and talk about what they've been too afraid to say."  
Dean leaned forward, unable to clamp down on the rage anymore, and in an urgent, angry whisper he said, "I've seen horrors that you couldn't even begin to imagine. I could tell you things that would make you never close your eyes again. I have been on the brink of _death_ time and time again, only to be kept alive to endure more pain. And I've done things that would make you sick to hear, that would make your skin crawl, that you worst nightmares couldn't even conjure up. " The shrink sat back, swallowing slowly. "You might have seen soldiers before, but I _guarantee_ you've never seen anyone like me. Because I'm not a soldier, I'm a hunter. So, enough with the psychobabble bullshit."  
Dr Whittaker took a calming breath. "I want to help you."  
"I don't need your help!"  
"What brought you into hospital, Dean?"  
"Excuse me?"  
"It says here you had acute hepatitis brought on by prolonged excessive alcohol consumption." The doc stared at Dean. "Is drinking to that extent the actions of a man who doesn't need help?"  
Dean was flawed for a moment.   
"I don't need to know what happened to you. I'm not trying to make it all go away, and I'm not trying to change the past. I just want to help you deal with it."  
Dean swallowed. His throat was raw.   
"How?" 

...

Dean was back in his bed after his head shrink session, sinking into the pillows gratefully after almost an hour being semi upright.   
“So, what did you talk about?” Sam asked, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.  
“Nothing,” Dean grunted.  
“Dean…” Sam started.  
“Sammy,” Dean tilted his head to look at his brother, “Please.”  
Dean’s desperation not to talk about it must have shown through, because Sam dropped it after that.   
The doc had spoken to him for quite a while, and although Dean didn’t want to hear it, didn’t think anything like that would ever, _could_ ever, help him, Whittaker had given him some good tips. Of course, he’d also wanted him to contact his doctor’s rooms and set up another appointment for when he was discharged but that was never going to happen.  
He’d prescribed him more pills, but Dean didn’t plan on sticking around at the hospital much longer so he wasn’t sure what good they were going to do. 

…

The MRI didn’t go too badly this time. Sam reflected on the last time Dean had gone into a machine like that and considered this a massive improvement. Well, this time Dean was whacked out on valium so that might have played a part.   
“Issit over, Sammy?” he slurred, a cocktail of drugs in his system to get him to relax long enough to stay still for it.   
“Yeah, Dean. Ya did good,” Sam smiled.  
“Woah,” Dean moaned, clutching his head as he sat up.  
“Let’s just take it slow,” the radiographer instructed, a hand on Dean’s back.  
They kept Dean sitting for a few minutes, let him have a few sips of water before they got him back in his bed and wheeled him up to his room.  
Dean pretty much slept after that, and it was honestly the most peaceful Sam had seen him all day.

…

The next few days were more of the same. Dean had people constantly talking to him, telling him things he didn’t fully understand, making rules and guidelines and programs he didn’t want to follow. Telling him what he was doing wrong, how he needed to change, measuring, and counting, and documenting, and observing, and jabbing him with needles, and poking at him every which way. He could barely take any more.   
Friday morning Katie showed up again. Bobby quickly headed out to get coffee, or something, do anything that wasn’t sitting in the room with them. She was there pretty much every day. He knew it was her job, that she was at the hospital anyway, but he couldn’t help but wonder why she was hanging around, what she thought she was going to get out of it. It annoyed him that she'd come to visit. It made him angry. Because he didn't want to like her. He didn't want to appreciate her company and look forward to her coming to visit. He didn't want to care for anyone. And he hated it that she was nice, and trusting, and didn't make him talk if he didn't want to. He hated how good she was. She was too good for him.   
"I'll come by tomorrow," she said, pushing his table close to his side.   
"You don't have to," Dean said, shaking his head, because why would anyone volunteer to be there.   
"I want to," she smiled.   
As she was leaving Riley appeared at the door. They crossed paths, looked at each other but didn't say anything.   
“Who was that?” Riley purred, stepping into the room.  
Dean cleared his throat, “Nice of you to visit. I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”  
"Is that your honey?" Riley smiled at Dean, flicking her eyebrows up.  
"Riley," Dean moaned, wanting desperately for her not to go there.   
"She's cute," she shrugged.   
"Would you stop?"  
"Alright," she folded her arms, "I just wanted to see how you were doing but I guess you're being well looked after."  
"Oh, come on."  
She held her hands up, "Okay, this is me backing off."  
"Would you sit down or something? You're making me uncomfortable."  
As if he wasn't already.   
"Should I stay... or?" She trailed off.   
"She's just a friend, okay? Relax. And what are you getting all riled up for anyway? You and me just have a bit of fun."  
"Yeah we do," she winked.   
Dean looked down, a smile tugging at his lips.  
"So, you've been feeling pretty bad, huh?"   
He could sense her padding across the room, hear the sexual tension in her voice.   
Dean just coughed into his fist, cleared his throat loudly, "Yeah, you could say that."  
"Anything... I could do?" she trailed a finger up and down his arm.   
Dean smirked. _God, yes. Anything. Everything._   
She leaned over and kissed his neck, a hand on his chest.   
Dean laughed, cast his eyes towards the ceiling, relaxing back.   
"Alright, shut the door and make it quick," he drawled. 

... 

Dean was sleeping when Sam came in. He was completely out to it. So still. So much so that Sam thought something had to have been wrong.   
"Hey, man," he said, putting a hand on his arm.   
Dean's eyes came open slowly, "Oh, hey, Sammy," he croaked, "When did you get here?"   
"Just got here. Sorry to wake you... you looked really... dead."  
Dean chuckled low in his throat, "Riley visited."  
Sam wrinkled his nose, "Seriously, dude? Here?"  
"That girl doesn't mess around."  
"You okay?"   
"I feel better than I have all week," Dean rubbed his eye with the back of his hand.   
"I bet you do," Sam laughed.   
"Tired, though."  
"Sorry," Sam apologised again.   
Dean waved a hand, "I got plenty of time to sleep."  
"So… what about Katie?" Sam said, eyebrow raised.   
"What about her?" Dean asked, on the defensive.   
"Don't you guys have a thing?"  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
"She's here every day, dude."  
"She works here."  
Sam cocked his head curiously, "You like her, don't you?"   
"Would you shut up?"   
"I'm fairly certain she likes you."  
"Sam, I swear to God..."  
"Alright," Sam raised his hands in surrender.   
"Don't you have somewhere to be? Work or something?"  
"Not until later," Sam said, looking at his watch.   
“Are you working tomorrow morning?”  
“No,” Sam said, curiously.   
“Good, we’re getting outta here.”  
“Ah, really? Are you sure you’re –“  
“You told me to wait till the end of the week. It’s the end of the week. I’m leaving. So, you can either come and pick me up or I’ll get a friggen cab.”  
“Dean, shouldn’t we talk about this?”  
“What’s there to talk about?”  
Sam stared at him, stunned, looking like he was trying to think of what to say. Dean beat him to it.  
“Look, man. You’re worried about me, I get it. But I’m fine. My liver is fine. My back is fine.”  
“You’re not fine,” Sam muttered.  
“Well, I’m certainly not any worse. My last antibiotic is tonight and then they’re gonna unplug me. If all I’m gonna do is lie in a bed, then I can lie in a bed at home.”  
“Dean…”  
“End of story, Sam.”  
Sam cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat, “Alright, well, we need to talk to your doctor then.”

…

Sam had asked the nurses to call Dr Reid so they could chat about discharge. Dean had fallen back asleep while they waited and Sam just sat beside him reading a book. Dean must have been buggered because he wasn’t stirring at all. It didn’t mean he wasn’t having a nightmare, it just meant his body was too wrecked to respond to it.   
He wasn’t exactly surprised that Dean had wanted to check out tomorrow. He was impressed he’d even made it this long. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t worried. At the hospital Dean had, nutritionists, dieticians, physiotherapists, psychiatrists, occupational therapists, nurses, doctors, and everything else at his disposal. Sure, it was costing an arm and a leg, and Sam was months behind on the rent as it was, but it was nothing less than what Dean needed.   
Dr Reid took over an hour to get there. He didn’t work at the hospital, but it was a tight community and he seemed to really care about his patients. He’d made the trip to see Dean countless times.  
Dean stirred as he knocked on the wall, making his presence known.  
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” he said, coming in.  
Dean woke with a rattling cough, sitting his bed up higher. Sam handed him a glass of water, and patted him on the shoulder.   
“Hey, doc,” Sam smiled.  
“Hey,” Dean rasped, his voice low and gravely.  
“I’m told you want to go home,” Dr Reid stood at the end of Dean’s bed, chart under his arm.  
“That’s right,” Dean punctuated the sentence with a thick sniff, that pesky head cold still hanging around.   
“You know I’m going to advise against that?”  
“I know.”  
Dr Reid chewed on the inside of his lip, staring at Dean for a moment. Then he opened the chart and read a few notes.  
“If I send you home I’m going to need you to follow strict instructions. You’re going to need to attend rehab every week. There’re exercises you need to do every day, supervised. I’ll need you to keep up with the medications. And most importantly, no booze.”  
Dean nodded, looking unfazed.  
“I can organize a community nurse to come out everyday and help you in the mornings getting you up and showered and doing your meds. But it is quite expensive per day.”  
“That’s okay, Doctor,” Sam said, “I can do all of that.”  
Dr Reid raised his eyebrow.  
“We don’t have the biggest budget…”  
The doc nodded, “I’ll get the nurses go through a few things with you and get the paperwork ready. Do you have a shower chair?”  
“Yeah, we bought one after Dean’s surgery.”  
“It’s probably a good idea to use that for a few more days until you’re steadier on your feet, okay?”  
Dean looked shattered. His nose and eyes were red, but at least his skin had got its pinkish hue back. He nodded.  
Dr Reid gave him another once over with his eyes, “Okay, I’m going to write some instructions up and order your discharge medications. Get plenty of rest, Dean, okay?”   
“Sure thing,” Dean said, with a sideways smile.  
“Alright, I’ll talk to you in the morning.”  
Sam and Dean didn’t say anything for a while after Dr Reid left and Sam thought that Dean had fallen asleep again until his heard him clear his throat.  
“Hey, Sam.”  
“What?”   
Dean eyes were closed and he looked close to passing out.  
“You are _not_ helping me shower.”

…


	12. Chapter 12

Dean was tired. He felt like he’d never been so tired in all his life. His bones ached, his muscles ached, his _skin_ ached. The exhaustion was deep. Crippling. Suffocating.   
“Go to sleep, boy.”  
Dean’s eyes scanned over to Bobby, who was sitting to the side, looking like he hadn’t said a thing. The lights were off in the hospital. Sam had left for work long ago. The room was being lit by the bedside lamp, which was providing just enough light for Bobby to read whatever old book he was flipping through.   
Dean cleared his throat, “Not tired.”  
It sounded ridiculous even to him. His voice was about two octaves lower than usual, thick with congestion, and raw.   
Bobby snorted in attempt at a laugh.   
“There’s nobody here to fool, son.”  
Dean went to speak again but coughed instead.  
“Urrrgh,” he groaned when he’d finished. He ripped a tissue from the box on the bed beside him, fitting it over his nose delicately. He blew a mass of mucus into it. The disruption to his sinuses made him sneeze forcefully.  
“Gesundheit.”  
Dean blew his nose again and then muttered a thank you under his breath.   
Some time passed before Bobby spoke again.  
“Hard to sleep with your eyes open.”  
Dean sighed. He’d thought about closing his eyes. He’d thought long and hard about it. He’d had a sleep while Sam was there, after their talk with Dr Reid. He honestly hadn’t been able to keep his eyes open. But even though he woke quietly, hours later, without anyone having shaken him awake to stop him screaming, it didn’t mean he hadn’t lived in hell for that short time. And Whittaker was right, it wasn’t just when he dreamed, it was whenever he closed his eyes. Now he was terrified to do even that.   
“You’re gonna hurt yourself if you try to think any harder,” Bobby said, gruffly, but with a hint of fondness.   
Dean tried for a smile, “Why don’t you dust off that book and read it out loud? Then we might both learn something.”  
The sentence left him out of breath, but he’d needed to say it. Because he could feel the panic creeping back in, wrapping it’s sticky tentacles around him. And if he had to lie there just listening to himself breathe he’d go crazy… _ha, too late._  
“You want me to read to you?” Bobby cocked an eyebrow, humour evident in his voice.  
Dean didn’t need to speak again before Bobby started reading out loud. Bobby knew him damn well, knew that he was too exhausted to form a response to that question, knew he was too broken to try and attempt to justify himself, knew he was hanging on by a mere thread.  
Bobby spoke in his usual gruff tone, so steady, so familiar. It didn’t even matter what he was saying, Dean just held onto his voice and focused on keeping his eyes open, lulled by the scratchy sound of pages turning as the night grew darker and darker around their little pocket of light. His sinuses were full of congestion and he occasionally distracted himself by emptying them into tissue upon tissue, steadily making his way through the box at his hip. Eventually though the box was empty, and Dean couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer… but Bobby never stopped reading. 

…

Dean woke panting, literally dripping in sweat. He instinctively brought his hands to his chest to check that it wasn’t ripped apart, that his organs were still inside his body. When he realized where he was he let his head flop back against the pillow, chest still heaving.   
“You okay?” Bobby asked from somewhere beside him.  
Dean took five more breaths before he answered, “When are we getting out of here?”   
“Not so fast. We’ll think about going when you’ve stopped panting like you just ran the Kentucky derby.”  
Dean hadn’t got to sleep until they were well into the next morning. Now it was sunny outside, lights on, door open, staff bustling by. Time to go.   
“I’m good. When’s Sam coming?”  
“He’s already here. Just went down to the pharmacy to get your meds.”  
Dean tried to focus his attention on the here and now.   
“Does he have enough money? I have a card –“  
“Don’t you worry about that.”  
“Bobby…”  
“You think I can’t look after my boys?” Bobby cocked an eyebrow.   
Dean didn’t know what to say so he didn’t say anything. He was filled with a kind of warmth at Bobby insinuating that he was their father, but he was also gutted that he had taken so much from him.   
“Dean,” Bobby started, knowing Dean was still recovering from his recent night terror.   
“I just want to go home, Bobby,” he sounded worse this morning because his voice was going, requiring even more energy to make a sound.  
Bobby took a while to respond, “I know, son.”  
Dean stared out the window, hoping that it was the last time he’d have to look out that window.  
“Katie came by about an hour ago but you were sleeping.”  
“Oh.”  
“I told her you were checking out today. She said to wish you all the best and she’ll see you in rehab.”  
Dean nodded, swallowing past his tender throat. 

…

Sam stood staring at the stuffed teddy bears with ‘get well soon’ plastered across their bellies. They were fluffy and brightly coloured, black glossy eyes staring back at him. Sam felt a sinking feeling in his gut, thinking back to coming in and finding Dean in the hospital that night, so sick.   
_“How did this happen?”  
“Well, the combination of the alcohol and the prescription medication caused his liver a great deal of stress and inflammation.”  
“But he’s freaking yellow! How did I not notice he was so sick? What kind of a brother am I?”  
“Sam, this didn’t come on over night. The skin change would have been progressive, and for someone seeing him every day it wouldn’t have been significant enough to even take note of.”  
“I still… I just can’t…”  
“This isn't your fault, Sam. Your brother has been actively hiding his issues from you, he’s admitted that much. We can move on from this, and do everything we can for Dean, okay? Sam?”_  
“… Sam Winchester?”  
Sam cleared his throat, turned around to face the counter where they were calling his name. He signed for and collected Dean’s medications, at least ten boxes and bottles in a zip lock bag. 

…

“This is ridiculous,” Dean muttered, as the orderly pushed him down the hallway in a wheelchair.   
“Relax, man. Consider it being chauffer driven. You’re certainly not gonna get this kind of attention at home,” Sam laughed.  
“I friggen hope not,” Dean mumbled, then coughed, then decided to stop talking. His decision didn’t last very long though until he saw Bobby swinging Baby up the driveway to the pickup area out the main doors.   
“Well, hello, Baby,” he grinned.  
“Woah, is this your car?” The orderly asked, pushing Dean up close to her and locking the wheels.   
“Sure is. Beautiful, isn’t she?” Dean reached a hand out to drag a finger down her sleek hip.   
“She certainly is.”  
“Do you want to lie down in the back?” Sam asked, opening the door.  
“No way. I’m sitting up front.”

…

Dean hadn’t slept. Sam was ready to take him back to the hospital. Maybe slip a pill into his food. He’d been home a full day, a full night, and now it was the next evening. He mostly ambled around the house like he was lost, or like a tiger in a cage, pacing, wanting to get out, wanting something to kill. But now it’d been so long since he’d slept. He was cranky. He snapped at anything anyone said. He groaned in pain when he moved, not trying to hide it. He held onto the walls when he walked, in favour of using the forearm crutches that the physios had sent him home with. Sam knew he was feeling sick, in pain, emotionally scarred, but it was all being compounded by the fact he wouldn’t sleep. He was sure a good nights sleep would help. It had to.   
“Dean?” Sam approached the couch where his brother lay, aggressively flipping through channels.   
“Hm?” he groaned, seeming disinterested.   
“Maybe you should try going to sleep again…”  
“Maybe you should shut up.”  
“Dean… listen to your brother.”  
Dean turned the TV off and slammed the remote on the coffee table.  
He tried to sit up.  
“Need a hand, dude?” Sam leaned in.  
“Don’t friggen touch me,” Dean forced out through gritted teeth.   
“Son, you better watch your mouth,” Bobby said.  
Dean managed to get standing by himself, face red.   
“You’re not our father. Stop pretending to be.”  
Sam watched, mouth gaping, as Dean wandered down the hall, listened to the sound of the back door opening and swinging shut with excessive force. Then his eyes found Bobby, who was sitting in the armchair, a look in his eye he couldn’t quite read.  
“Bobby, he didn’t mean that.”  
Bobby took some controlled breaths before he spoke, “Yeah… I’m gonna go to bed…”  
“Bobby…”  
“Watch out for your idjit brother,” he said as he passed him on his way to his room.   
Sam sighed and rubbed his temple. Dean was beginning to be impossible to handle. Like a hurricane. 

…

Dean sat down on the stairs at the back of the house, gritted his teeth as it sent pain shooting up his spine. He let his head fall into his hands. Tears burning behind his eyes, but he didn’t cry, there was nothing left. No emotion to muster up. He couldn’t cry if he wanted to. So his eyes just burned, and burned, and _burned_. He sniffed hard. Light rain began to fall on his head and he looked up, waiting for the drops to fall in his eyes.  
He sneezed messily into his palm.  
 _Shouldn’t be out here, Winchester._  
He snuffled indignantly, trying to silence the voice in his head.   
He didn’t know anything anymore. He’d just said one of the worst things he’d ever said to one of the most important people in his life. This was it. This was rock bottom. Because now it wasn’t just what was happening to him that was the problem. Now _he_ was the problem.   
Once again he dropped his face into his hands, and he did something he hadn’t done for a while. Because he didn’t know what else to do.  
“Cas… buddy. I need help. _Please._ ”  
There was a gust of wind. He was almost too exhausted to lift his head.   
Cas was standing in the middle of the back yard, trench coat reflecting the moonlight, blue eyes glinting.   
“So now you show up,” Dean mumbled.  
“Dean… you know I never wanted to leave you here.”  
“Cas… I’m tired.”  
“I know, Dean.”  
“No, Cas… I’m really tired.”  
Cas cocked his head, then stepped towards him, “Very well.”  
He reached out, and with two fingers, pressed them against Dean’s forehead. The touch spread a warmth through his body, and then there was nothing.

…


	13. Chapter 13

Sam heard a knock on the back door, and that was alarming in itself, because Dean wouldn’t knock. Unless he couldn’t get back inside…  
Sam hurried down the hall, stepping back in surprise when he opened the door. Cas was standing there, Dean’s body completely limp in his arms.   
“The house is warded. I cannot enter.”  
“Uh, Bobby,” Sam called, reached a hand out to touch his brother’s head.  
“He’s just sleeping.”  
“How did -?”   
“He asked me to.”  
Bobby’s loud footfalls came down the hallway behind him.  
“What in sweet hell is this?”  
Sam would have taken Dean from Cas’ arms but right now he looked peaceful there, and Dean was a heavy load to carry, in every sense of the phrase.  
“Remove the warding so I can come inside,” Cas ordered, “Please.”  
Sam and Bobby went around the house scratching marks in the angel warding symbols beneath the paintings, until they all had been disabled. Cas carried Dean into the house, and out of the rain.  
Sam and Bobby stood and watched as Cas lay him gently on the bed.  
“What’s wrong with him?”  
“He is sleeping.”  
“That’s it? He’s sleeping?” Sam raised his voice, but Dean didn’t stir.   
“He prayed to me. I came.”  
Bobby snorted, “Gee, ain’t you a giver.”  
“Dean is very disturbed.”  
Sam laughed manically, “You think we don’t know that?”  
“No… you don’t.”   
Cas looked back down at Dean and closed his eyes, placing a hand on his head.   
“I pulled him out of hell. _Hell_ , Sam.”  
“Cas, what’re you… what did you do?”  
“He’s peaceful now,” he looked down at him again.   
“How -? _What?_ ”  
“He wouldn’t sleep because of the nightmares… I took them away.”  
Sam and Bobby looked at each other.  
“You took them away?” Sam asked.  
“Permanently?” Bobby added.  
Cas looked somber, “No, unfortunately. But for now, he will sleep peacefully.”  
“Just for now?”  
“Until he is ready to wake,” Cas sat down in the chair by Dean’s bed, “I will remain with him.”  
“Cas… forgive me if I don’t completely understand what’s happening,” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.  
“Dean’s soul has been to hell. Living through the horror of that, and carrying that every day is an almost impossible task.”  
“Yeah,” Bobby nodded, “Then where the hell were you?”  
“I was right here,” Cas met Bobby’s eyes, “But I could not –“   
“Cas,” Sam sighed, “I don't want to hear your excuses. I don’t want to hear it.”  
“I’m sorry,” he bit, “But tonight Dean called to me, and I left my station. I defied orders, and I came. I’m doing this _for_ Dean.”  
“And we’re grateful,” Sam said softly, “But it’s too little, too late.”  
“Sam… there are still tasks that heaven needs Dean to complete. The apocalypse is upon us,” he looked at Dean’s sleeping form, “He has to stop it.”  
Sam felt tears well in his eyes, “Then save him.”  
Cas looked pained, face screwed up in anguish, close to tears that Sam didn’t even think he was capable of, “In time.”  
“Son, you’re lucky if I don’t slice my hand open and slam your ass back to the big top upstairs. You’re staying because Dean needs you right now. That’s it,” Bobby grunted, “When he wakes up, you’re gone, if I have to recarve those wardings myself.”  
“We will protect him. We need him.”  
“I don’t care! You’re using him like a friggen weapon!” Bobby boomed, “He’s a human being!”  
“And you can save him,” Sam added, “but you won’t. So as far as I’m concerned you’re not welcome in my home.”  
“Dean requested my assistance. I will stay with him until he is ready to wake.”  
Sam looked at his brother’s face. Dead to the world. Peaceful.   
“Fine,” he conceded.  
Sam ushered Bobby out of the room. The older hunter stopped in the hall and turned to face him.  
“Sam, are you sure about this?”  
Sam looked over his shoulder into Dean’s room, Cas had a hand on Dean’s forehead.  
“I’ll watch over you,” he heard the angel mutter.   
Sam let out a breath, feeling overly emotional, “It’s okay, Bobby. It’ll be okay.”

…

The next morning Sam entered Dean’s room and found the scene much as he’d left it the night before. Dean was still out to it, Cas sitting on the edge of the chair, hands clasped in front of him, leaning over, staring intently at Dean. It felt like nothing had changed, except now the sun was up.   
“Good morning, Sam,” Cas muttered, “Did you sleep well?”  
Sam rubbed a hand through his hair, “I slept okay. How’s Dean doing?”  
“He is not in any distress.”  
Sam checked his watch and yawned.  
“He needs medicine soon.”  
Cas furrowed his brow, “He is not ready to wake yet.”  
“Well, he has to have the medicine, Cas. These things are kind of time sensitive.”  
Cas seemed to understand, “Very well. He will take the medicine then continue to sleep. He will have no knowledge of waking.”  
“Is this really the best thing for Dean?” Sam asked.  
“His body needs rest…”  
“It’s more than that though, right? It’s worse than that,” Sam questioned, the anger from the previous night drained away. Now he just felt powerless.  
“His soul needs rest also… His pain… it’s so loud it pierces the veil into heaven.”  
Sam felt like the air was sucked out of his lungs, “What do you mean?”  
“The angels can hear him scream.”  
Sam welled up, chest hitching with stuttering breaths, “Can you help him?”  
“Even if I were to heal his body… I don’t know how to heal this. I can’t fix your brother, Sam.”  
Sam swallowed, blinked back the tears.  
“I’m going to make breakfast.”

…

“Cas?”   
Dean blinked several times. The room was bright. He felt dry, sluggish. An angel shaped figure sat to his right. Trench coat. Blue tie.   
“Hello, Dean.”  
Dean coughed lightly, uncovered, unable to lift his arms.   
“What happened?”  
“You’ve been sleeping.”  
“I figured,” Dean let his eyes slip closed, “Did you?”  
“I did what you asked me to do. I let you rest.”  
Dean cleared his throat, “Thank you.”  
“You’re welcome.”  
“…Cas?”  
“Yes, Dean.”  
“Why did you leave? Why didn’t you help me?” he opened his eyes and tried to see Cas’ face, tried to force his eyes to focus.  
“Because I want better for you, Dean.”  
Dean strained to lift his head, “Huh?”  
“I thought if you could… get out. You and Sam. You’d be spared from all this. This war… this… the apocalypse.”  
“I thought –“  
“I did not lie to you, Dean. I was under orders. We all were. But even though the others had different reasons, I saw it as a way out for you. This, here, what you and Sam have… it’s better. I see that now.”  
“You don’t see anything,” Dean squeezed his eyes shut and relaxed back against the pillow.  
“I do not understand.”  
“Hunting helps me. Without it…” Dean trailed off.  
“I’m sorry, Dean. Everything will happen in time.”  
When Dean opened his eyes again Cas was gone.

…

Sam had got up early that morning. When the sun rose at 4am he was up, cleaning up the house, doing laundry. Bobby was still asleep, and probably had only gone to bed a few hours before that. So Sam tried to keep himself busy, ignore the fact that his brother had been unconscious for 34 hours, and although Cas had allowed him to wake for small moments at a time, Dean was in a zombie like state, like he was operating on autopilot, and then he would go back to sleep. Cas said he would never remember even being awake, that his body was in such a deep state of rest he would have no recollection. It was a mercy to be honest. Dean was in so much pain all the time, Sam often wished he could take it all away, even for just a moment… this was as close as he was going to get right now.  
When he went in at 5am to check on Dean he found his brother alone. Cas had gone. And Dean was awake.  
“Dean?” Sam asked, tongue dry with anxiety.  
Dean smiled, puffy eyes wrinkling, “Hey, Sammy.”  
“Dean, oh my god…” Sam sat on his brother’s bed and put a hand on his shin. “You’ve been asleep for a while.”  
“Yeah.”  
Dean’s voice was weak and croaky, but Sam hadn’t heard it in over a day so to him it was the most beautiful music.  
“Did Cas -?”  
“He left. Big surprise there,” Dean brought a hand up to rub his forehead with the back of his wrist.  
“How are you feeling, man?” Sam asked, brow furrowing.  
“I feel okay… rested, I guess.”  
“Well, thank god for that,” Sam sighed, smiling.  
“Yeah… my back’s a little sore,” Dean winced as he shifted.  
“Okay, I’ll go and get you something…”  
A weak hand gripped Sam’s wrist and he stopped getting up.  
“What?”  
“Just… it’s okay,” Dean’s mouth moved as he searched for an excuse. Sam could see what he was trying to say ‘don’t leave me’, ‘please stay’, but he was too man to say it out loud.  
“Alright,” Sam sat back down, “So, you spoke to Cas?”  
“Briefly. Like trying to hold a conversation with a cheese sandwich.”  
Both Sam and Dean laughed. Dean ended up coughing.  
“You need to drink some water, dude,” Sam said, after listening to his brother clear his throat for a good ten seconds.  
“A beer would be good.”  
Sam’s heart leapt into his throat.  
Dean smirked, “I’m kidding, man… I mean… I still _want_ it. I don’t think I’ll ever not want it… but I know I can’t. And I won’t, okay? I promise I won’t. I won’t do that to you.”  
Sam smiled, decided to avoid telling his brother he should be doing it for himself, “Thanks.”  
“Don’t mention it,” Dean winced again, “Argh, I gotta get up.”  
“Are you sure? Maybe we should take it slow.”  
“Sam, I’ve been in this bed _way_ too long. I need to get up.”  
Dean took a moment before he started moving, like he was gathering his energy, but then when he started, it was as if he’d never been sick, or injured.   
“Quit hovering, dude. I’m alright,” he said, with fondness in his voice. Usually he would be aggressive or annoyed, maybe the sleep had done him good.  
“Okay, well, you hungry? I got bacon and eggs.”  
“Oh god, yes,” Dean rubbed his stomach and smiled, “Thought I wasn’t allowed nice food?”  
“Actually, man, this diet you’re on is protein rich, so you actually just have to eat more meat.”  
“Oh, Sammy, could this day get any better?”

…


	14. Chapter 14

"Dude, you alright? We've only made it halfway down the hallway," Sam said, playfully.   
Dean breathed heavily, leaning a hand on the wall, and smiled.   
"Was the hallway always this long?"   
Sam laughed, "Yeah, dude. Need me to bring you a chair? Maybe we should just move the couch in here and..."  
"Shut up," Dean groaned and started forward again.   
Sam laughed and followed his brother.   
"Ah, son of a bitch," Dean moaned, reaching out for the wall again but still maintaining forward momentum.   
"You good?" Sam said, softly.   
"Yeah..." Dean broke off coughing and pressed his other hand to his chest.   
"Alright, almost there."   
Dean sunk down onto the lounge, letting out a long groan. Sam crossed the room and got the box of tissues from the bench, placing them on the arm of the couch next to Dean.   
"Thanks, Sammy," Dean muttered, ripping one from the box.   
"You want a heat pack?"   
“Sure, man.”  
Sam got the heat pad and helped Dean get settled on the lounge before he headed into the kitchen to start making breakfast. He looked over at Dean while he grabbed the frypan out of the cupboard.  
“What you doing over there?”  
Dean was staring at his phone with a smirk on his face.   
“Nothing,” he grinned.  
“Oh, really?” Sam raised an eyebrow at his mischievous brother.   
Dean swiped the tissue under his nose, then balled it up in his hand, “Riley texted me.”  
“I don’t want to know what it says.”  
“Oh, Sammy,” Dean chuckled, “Don’t be so delicate.”  
Sam laughed, trying to remember when he’d last had a morning this easy. 

…  
Sam and Dean bantered as normal that morning, and Sam had really missed being able to talk like that. He’d heard movement in Bobby’s room. Dean’s cough was pretty loud so he knew Bobby would know Dean was now awake. He wondered why he hadn’t come out to see Dean yet, and then he remembered.   
_“You’re not our father.”_  
Sam sucked a breath in, remembering the heat behind the words. He knew Dean didn’t mean to say it. He was just sleep deprived and pain rattled. There was no meaning behind them. But still, after all Bobby had done, all he’d sacrificed, all he’d paid… it was a really awful thing to say.  
 _“Stop pretending to be.”_  
Bobby entered the room.  
“Dean,” he said, looking to him on the couch.  
Dean smiled, knowing he needed to offer some sort of olive branch, “Hey.”  
“How ya feeling, kid?” Bobby gave him a sideways look as he crossed the room towards the dining table.  
“I feel better actually.”  
“Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

…

Dean saw Sam look between the two of them, then back down at the bench where he was cutting up bacon.  
“Listen, Bobby… I know what I said to you. I was just cranky, you know? I’m sorry.”  
Bobby didn’t smile, “I, uh… I gotta take off. Caught a hunt.”  
Sam looked up, “Wha - now?”  
Bobby nodded, pulling his boots on.  
“Well, do you want to wait for breakfast at least?”  
Bobby grabbed his bag and threw it over his shoulder, “Naw, Sam, don’t worry about it. I’ll eat on the road.”  
“Bobby, come on,” Dean said, standing slowly and facing him.  
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, son.”  
The boys watched Bobby leave and Dean slumped into the barstool, leaning forward onto the bench.  
“I screwed up, Sam.”  
Sam paused in front of him, “Don’t worry, Dean. This is Bobby we’re talking about. He’s put up with a lot of crap from us. I’m sure he just needs a little time on his own.”  
Dean massaged his forehead. Sam’s hand was on his shoulder, “Hey.”  
Dean looked up, “Yeah, I know.”  
“You can’t beat yourself up over this,” he said, giving him a little squeeze.  
Dean looked up at him through his fingers, “Have you met me?”  
Sam huffed, “It’ll blow over, man. He’ll come around.”  
Dean folded his arms across the bench and rested his head on them.   
Sam gave him another pat on the back and went back to cooking. 

…

Despite the fact Dean had slept for however many hours, he still wasn’t exactly sure, he was exhausted. Just getting up and getting to the lounge in the first place, and then Bobby… He already wanted to go back to bed. He actually almost fell asleep on the counter, then he felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder.  
“Come on, man. Go and lie down.”  
Dean pushed himself upright, black dots dancing across his vision. He couldn’t believe he was still rocking this killer of a head cold. It was ridiculous at this point. He’d given up booze, so what the hell?   
_Stress._  
Yeah, that had to be it. Although there wasn’t much to be stressed about at the moment, since they’d just taken a knee on the whole apocalypse thing all together. _God_ , he couldn’t believe Cas. At least this time he’d come and actually done some good. Now that Dean had slept he could see things a little clearer, and at this point he knew they were kidding themselves. Hunters didn’t get _out_. Hunters didn’t walk away. Something would pull them back in. It always did.   
“Dean, you okay?”  
Sam had puppy eyes firmly in place and Dean smiled, snapped himself out of his internal monologue.   
“I’m good.”  
“Breakfast’s almost ready but I think you should lie down for a bit.”  
Dean coughed into his fist, a jackhammer setting off in his head.  
“ _God_ ,” he winced, massaging his throat and swollen glands. He glanced to the couch, then back at Sam, “Don’t think I’ll make it that far.”  
His voice was rough and he started coughing again.  
“You want a cough drop?”  
Dean nodded, saving his voice, and Sam disappeared quickly down the hall. Dean envied how fast he moved.   
“Here, Dean.”  
Dean must have had his eyes closed, because he had to open them to see Sam. He took the cough drop from him and stuck it in his mouth, letting the sugary sweet sooth his throat, and tamper down the almost constant need to cough.   
“Alright, I’ll help you up. Come on.”  
Dean slung his arm over Sam’s shoulders and leaned on his as he got off the chair. Sam grunted.  
“ _Unngh_ , geez, you’re heavy.”  
“Pussy,” Dean smirked and focused on getting his feet to work as he made his way over to the couch.   
Sam made more groaning sounds as he bent over to help Dean sit without face planting.   
“Out of practice, are ya, Sammy?” Dean laughed.  
“Says you, dude.”  
Dean grinned and leaned back, letting his eyes close.

…  
Dean drifted in between being asleep and being awake. Sam came over to him with breakfast and they both sat next to each other on the couch, eating bacon and eggs and watching some renovation show on TV. Dean didn’t know what the green stuff was smeared on his toast, but Sam gave him a hard stare until he ate it. It actually wasn’t too bad, but he pretended not to like it.   
After that Dean had fallen off into a doze, and when he started awake an hour later Sam was no longer sitting next to him. Dean stretched and clambered stiffly to his feet. He walked gingerly down the hall and passed in front of Sam's open bedroom door. Sam was standing in front of the mirror, his back to Dean, his shirt pulled up.   
"What are you doing?" Dean asked, pushing Sam's door open all the way.   
Sam startled and spun around, dropping his shirt, "What? Nothing," he said rapidly.   
"You checking out your abs?" Dean joked dryly, "Dude, you can tell me."  
"Dean, I wasn't..." Sam stopped mid sentence and huffed, hands flopping by his sides.   
"What's going on, Sam?" Dean stepped closer, sensing something more serious was going on than vanity.   
Sam chewed his lip.   
"Show me."  
Sam sighed and pulled his shirt up. Dean took a slight step back at the shock of seeing at least a third of Sam's chest mottled with bruises.   
"Jesus, Sam," Dean went close in to inspect his brother's chest, touching his fingers to the bruised area. "When did this happen and when did you plan on telling me?"  
"I broke a rib working that case, remember? Bobby fixed me up... but the next day it starting bruising."  
"Sam, that was like 2 weeks ago!"  
"I know," Sam frowned, "I thought the bruising would go down but it hasn't."  
"Are these new bruises? Is it still bruising?"  
"No, no. I mean it took a few days to appear but nothing more has happened."  
"Are you sure?" Dean eyed him, "because if something is bleeding in there, I need to know about it."  
"No, that's it. That's the truth."  
Dean flicked his eyes from Sam's chest to his face.   
"I bet it hurts, huh?"   
Sam cleared his throat, "Its not so bad."  
"You're a liar, Sammy. You're a _good_ liar. But you are a liar."  
Sam looked down at the ground.   
Dean couldn't believe he hadn't noticed this. Sam broke a rib, probably several ribs if he was being honest, and Dean was too caught up in his own selfish head to stop and think about him. To start looking out for him again. He'd slacked off. He'd forgotten his one, most important job in the world. Watch out for Sammy. He'd failed. Again.   
"You alright?" Sam asked, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder.   
"Me? I'm fine," Dean said, snapping out of it, "Which I can't exactly say the same for you. You know, I'm not above throwing your ass in the car and driving up to the hospital?"   
"Dean," Sam let out a breath, "It's fine, really. It hurts a little... but it looks worse than it is."  
Dean narrowed his eyes, "Well, you can take some painkillers and take it easy for the next few weeks. I don't want you lifting anything, and that includes me, okay?"   
Sam looked down and smiled with one side of his mouth.   
“Does that mean you’ll use the crutches?”  
Dean cocked his head, “This was part of your evil plan all along, wasn’t it?”  
Sam pursed his lips.  
“ _Fine_. Yes, I’ll use the crutches.”  
Dean took half a step back, trying to ease the pressure on his lower back.   
"Speaking of taking it easy, let's get you horizontal," Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder.  
“Hang on,” Dean gripped Sam’s forearms, getting a handful of flannel, as he felt the blood drain from his face.   
“Okay, sit down on the bed, quick.”  
Dean let Sam push him until the backs of his legs connected with the mattress and he let himself sit back on Sam’s bed.   
“Lie back. Breathe, Dean.”  
Dean was taking shallow shaky breaths. He made a conscious effort to deepen them as he lay back sideways across the bed.   
"You're alright," Sam said, patting Dean's chest.   
Dean fixed his eyes on the ceiling concentrating on breathe in, breathe out. _Breathe in, breathe out._  
Sam sat down heavily beside him and Dean felt the mattress shift. Dean slid his eyes over to his brother who was lying on his back beside him.   
"Promise me you're okay," Dean said, looking at the hand Sam had resting protectively over his ribs.   
Sam furrowed his brow, his face serious, knowing how important this statement was.   
"I'm okay. Really."  
Dean sighed, tried not to cough. _Breathe in, breathe out._  
"When did I stop being the big brother?"   
Sam was looking at him in shock so Dean looked away.   
"Dean... you never stopped. You never have and you never will. You're my big brother. I know what you would do for me... I know what you _have done_ for me..."   
"Yeah, but really. Now who's looking after who?"  
Sam shook his head, "Dean, we look after each other. You don't seem to get it."  
"What?"  
"You think it's your job to look out for me. Well, my job is to look out for you."  
"I don't need you to -"   
"Yes, you do. It's okay to need help sometimes."  
"Did we grow up with the same father?" Dean joked.   
Sam sighed, "Yeah. But you listened and I didn't."  
Dean laughed which made him cough, and it was painful while he was lying on his back.   
"Don't hide anything from me again."  
Sam looked hurt, "I'm sorry. I won't."  
"Need someone in this world I can trust."  
Sam had puppy eyes.   
"Alright, don't give me that," Dean whinged, "Now, more importantly, how are we gonna get up?"

...

Later that day Sam woke up on the couch. He’d taken some of Dean’s painkillers, mainly because he insisted, but also because it really did hurt. He’d done a good job of hiding it so far but now he realized, hiding it was the worst thing he could have done, and he felt a sense of relief knowing that Dean knew now. The house was quiet now. Dean must have turned the TV off, and he was no longer sitting beside him. Sam got up, stretching gingerly. He poked his head into Dean's room. Dean was asleep on top of the covers on a few pillows, arms folded across his chest, mouth slightly open, snoring softly through the congestion. He looked peaceful.   
Sam startled as a banging came at the front door. Dean sighed and smacked his lips but stayed asleep. Sam rushed down the hallway hoping to get there before it started again.   
He opened the door and almost slammed it back closed at the shock of seeing Ruby on the other side. She was leaning on the door frame, hand on her popped hip, mouth pursed.   
"Can't hide forever, Sam.”

…


	15. Chapter 15

Sam shoved her away as he hurriedly came outside, shutting the door behind him.   
"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam said quietly.   
"What? Do you think I forgot about you?" She snapped.   
"Shh! Would you keep it down!? If Dean sees you here... I don't what he'll do."  
"What he'll _do_? Dean can't do anything. The guy can barely move. He's a cripple."  
"Don't talk about my brother."  
Ruby pouted, stepped closer to Sam, placing a hand on his chest and getting on tip toes to lean closer to his ear.   
"He's slowing you down."  
Sam pushed her away, stealing his jaw.   
Ruby scowled, "No, you know what, Sam? He hasn't slowed you down, you've completely _stopped_."  
"We're out. Forget it."  
"You can't do this, Sam! We need you. Lilith -"  
"Stop. I don't care."  
"You don't _care_?"  
Sam huffed through his nose, "No. I'm out."  
Ruby softened, staring into Sam's eyes.   
"I know you want it..."  
Sam steeled his jaw, "Don't come back here again. I mean it."  
“My God, Sam. Do you think I’m an idiot? I’ve known where you were since the second you supposedly “dropped off the grid”. I was hoping you’d come to your senses sooner rather than later. But I guess I’m going to have to do all the work around here.”  
Sam took a composing breath, “What part of _we’re out_ are you not understanding?”  
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”  
“I’ve had my time over,” Sam said, keeping his voice low but steady, “I choose Dean.”  
Ruby cocked her head and said questioningly, “I thought we were doing this _for_ Dean.”

…

Dean woke up, not thrashing or screaming. He’d dreamed of hell but it didn’t seem so vivid this time. He woke knowing where he was, knowing he was out, knowing he was safe. It still took him a minute to catch his breath but it wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was finally getting better. Maybe he was finally moving past it.   
He sniffed and realized his nose was completely blocked. He groaned, scrubbing at it with the back of his hand. God, he wished he could wake up feeling good. Just once. Just for a moment. But this was an improvement. When he was in the hospital, everything was bad. He felt so weak, so tired, so pained. He had to be whacked out on morphine just so he could get through the day. There were honest moments when he thought he was going to die… again. And even though, his back still ached, he still felt weak, the heaviness in his chest still lingered, his throat still burned, and his head still pounded, it felt like he was passed the worst of it. Like he’d finally started to come out the other side. One toe at a time.   
He eased himself up to sit, his back rigid. He absently bent his arm round to rub it and felt his shoulder pull.   
_Wrong arm_ , he was reminded as his shoulder began to ache.   
His silver crutches were resting against the nightstand where he left them so he slid his forearms in and used them to lever himself up to stand. He let out a low groan as he straightened and began his trek out to the living room.   
“Sam?” Dean called, clearing his throat.  
The kitchen and lounge room were empty.  
He crutched his way over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Sam had made Dean a sandwich, sitting on a plate in the middle of the shelf, a note stuck on it saying ‘eat me’.   
Dean chuckled lowly, and grabbed the plate, sliding it onto the bench. He decided making it to the table or the couch was too much of an effort in his current state so he rounded the bench and eased onto the barstool.   
The sandwich was chicken and lettuce and some other salady stuff, but it wasn’t bad, and he ate it because he had to, because he wanted to get better.   
Dean looked across at the calendar on the fridge and Sam hadn’t marked that he was working. He would have looked around to see if his boots were at the door but he knew twisting wasn’t a good idea. He leaned on the bench, on both elbows, wincing and shifting onto the right one when his left shoulder told him how much it didn’t like it. He needed a massage, and physio, and sweet, sweet painkillers. He settled for eating his sandwich.   
The sound of the impala filled the street as Sam returned from wherever he was. Dean had gotten halfway through his lunch and had to stop to catch his breath. It was hard to eat when you couldn’t breathe at all through your nose.  
Sam came through the front door and Dean didn’t bother turning to face him, he swiveled halfway on the chair and waited for Sam to enter his sight.   
“Hey, you’re up.”  
Sam was carrying a few shopping bags in each hand and dumped them on the counter in front of Dean.   
“What happened to no lifting? You couldn’t take one bag in at a time?” Dean raised his eyebrow, added a bit of bite to his voice.  
Sam looked sheepish, “This was quicker.”  
“Mmhm,” Dean groaned, trying not to be angry with his brother, “Where you been?”  
“Where’s it look like?” Sam said with a chuckle, as he started unpacking groceries.   
Dean nodded.   
“ _And_ you were out of painkillers.”  
Dean nodded again, trying consciously not to breathe so heavily. He could feel his chest heaving, knowing his face was flushed.  
“How you feeling?” Sam asked with a frown, studying Dean’s expression.   
“Not too bad, Sammy,” he tried for a genuine smile.  
It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy, because all things considered, he kind of was, it was just the monotony of it all. Waking up scared, popping pills, hurting bad, popping more pills, Sam asking him how he felt, him lying about it, doctors appointments, rehab, exercises, more pills, no drinking, _how you feeling?_ , crippling exhaustion, going to bed (still scared), nightmares of hell, _and around and around we go._  
“You sure? You look a little feverish.”  
Dean had been playing the victim a lot these last 4 months. He was sick of it. Since Castiel had came and brought him sleep, real true rest, he’d felt energized in a way he previously hadn’t. Castiel didn't get it. He didn’t want Dean to hunt, didn't want Sam to hunt either for that matter, probably because before that he was on a dangerous road and a slippery slope. But Dean needed hunting, because he needed to make it right, needed to make up for hell. It was the only way. He knew that, and he was at peace with that, in a manner of speaking. He felt renewed, reenergized. He wasn’t going to mope around anymore and feel sorry for himself. He was going to get his life back.  
“Dean?”  
“Hm?” Dean looked up, the room lurching dizzily with the movement.  
“Okay, can you make it to the couch? No where for you to fall if you’re already lying down.”  
Dean’s brain couldn’t keep up with Sammy’s words, spoken too quickly and too mumbled.   
Sam was at his side before he could blink, holding his crutches steady for him. Dean slid his arms in and pushed to his feet, wavering slightly. Sam put a hand around his bicep.  
“Don’t help me,” Dean said, then he noticed the hurt expression in Sam’s eyes, “Your ribs, moron.”  
Sam backed up a little and let Dean walk to the couch, by the time he got there new sweat was prickling on his face and he was panting like he’d just run a marathon.   
He sunk down, unable to muffle a pained yelp at the movement of getting onto his back.   
“Geez,” Sam winched at the sound, “You okay?”  
“Mmhm,” Dean nodded, his lips tight.   
“I’ll get you some drugs, huh?”   
Sam didn’t wait for an answer before he disappeared. Dean breathed slowly, calculatedly. His back had seized up on his descent. He tried to will his muscles to relax, telling himself silently that it _was_ getting better, and trying his best to believe it.

…

Sam could see Dean was trying his best. Over the past few months Dean’s attitude hadn’t been the easiest to live with. Sam felt like he was on a rollercoaster trying to manage Dean’s many moods. Mostly he was just angry, then he was upset, withdrawn, depressed, sometimes he’d shut everything out and pretend he was completely fine, but that one never lasted long. It couldn’t. He was rarely the man he used to be. The man that was scared of nothing, the man that made inappropriate jokes at inappropriate times, the man that could always make Sam laugh, even when he really didn’t feel like laughing, the man that was always fine. Always. And it wasn’t his fault, not at all. He’d been in pain a lot of years, adding to that the effects of 40 years in hell. If he came out of that the same man he was before, then it would be a miracle. And that’s exactly what Sam hoped for.   
“Here. Open up,” Sam said, waggling the thermometer in front of Dean’s face.  
Dean glared, “Really?” he said incredulously.   
“Dude, you’ve got a fever. I just need to know.”  
Dean sighed but took the thermometer from his brother and stuck it under his tongue.   
“And don’t pout,” Sam said with a laugh.   
“M’ nah pou’ing.”  
“Don’t talk with that.”  
Dean rolled his eyes.   
A minute later the thermometer beeped and Dean didn’t even bother looking at it before handing it to Sam.   
“So, am I gonna live?”  
“Thankfully, yes. But you do need to cool off a bit. I’ll grab you some ice.”  
Sam kept busy. That was how he got through it. He busied himself looking after Dean, he busied himself with work and trying to earn money for them, he busied himself checking in with Bobby. All so he wouldn’t think about Lilith, all so he wouldn’t think about what she’d done to his brother, what she’d taken from him. All so he wouldn’t think about Ruby and what she was offering.   
Sam glanced out the window, suddenly worried he’d see Ruby again, standing outside, beckoning him. She wasn’t there.  
Dean coughed, snapping Sam out of his deranged thoughts.   
He brought a few ice packs wrapped in pillowcases and placed them around his brother.  
“Gimme,” Dean motioned for one, and placed his on his shoulder, pushing down tight with a wince.   
“Your shoulder hurt?”  
“Yeah,” he groaned, “Moved the wrong way before.”  
“Those pills working yet?”  
Dean had his eyes closed and swallowed, “Not yet.”  
“Shouldn’t be much longer,” Sam said, reassuringly.   
Dean smirked, mouth open so he could breathe, “We do this dance a lot, don’t we, Sammy?”  
Sam struggled to think of what to say back to his brother. He knew what he meant. Knew Dean was getting pretty tired. In the end he didn’t say anything. 

…

“Wake up!”  
Dean opened his eyes and felt the sting of sweat. He was shaking, panting, tears on his face. He reached out a hand and grabbed his brother’s shirt. Each breath was voiced in panic.  
“Hey,” Sam said.  
Dean brought both palms to his eyes and pressed down, trying to calm his staggering breaths.   
“I’m okay,” his tongue was thick and dry.   
Sam huffed out a breath beside him.  
“How long was I out?” Dean rasped.  
“About half an hour.”  
“Is that it?” Dean took his hands away from his face.  
“Yeah…”  
“Felt longer.”  
Dean began pushing himself up.  
“Hey, slow down. You feeling alright?”  
“Yeah, pain’s not so bad now.”  
“But you’re freaking burning up, man. Stay down.”  
Dean continued on his way to his feet and Sam reluctantly set his crutches within reach.  
“Gonna have a shower.”  
Dean got halfway down the hallway when Sam spoke again.  
“Hey.”  
Dean turned around and his brother was standing there with hands in his pockets and a coy look on his face.  
“Do you wanna, maybe, go to the bar tonight? Get some dinner… shit, I mean… just dinner. We can go somewhere else that doesn’t serve – “  
Dean started laughing, “Sam, stop. I’m not gonna… you know. I’m okay to go to a bar.”   
“I have to go pick up my pay cheque anyway, so I thought if you were feeling up to getting out…”  
Dean smiled, then shrugged minutely, “Sure.”

…

Dean turned the water on and waited till it was hot before he eased himself into the shower chair. The hot water was amazing on his muscles but his head was feeling fuzzy with fever so he turned the temperature down a little.   
Dean was glad Sam had offered to take him out, as small a gesture and as pathetic as it sounded, he was surprisingly happy about it. Even though they’d been at the house for months it wasn’t in Dean’s nature to settle. He had itchy feet, even though he knew he couldn’t leave. Not now. Not yet. He had healing to do. Healing that couldn’t happen on the road, or in some motel. He could probably handle everything else on the road if it wasn’t for his back. He wanted to go back to hunting, but just the thought of a demon throwing him, or taking any kind of hit made his body tense up. The pain was too intense when he was just lying still to even imagine what it would be like in a fight. He’d be down and out for the count by the first punch. And he was no good to anyone like that.   
He wasn’t in the shower very long. It was amazing, and also depressing, how much energy it took out of him. He pulled himself to his feet and shuffled towards the sink. Looking in the mirror he didn’t look well. He’d almost gotten used to it though. He didn’t look the same anymore, didn’t feel the same…   
Screams filled his ears, an internal rabble of noise. Chains jangling, knives sharpening, blade against blade.   
He looked in the mirror and into his eyes. The world disappeared around him and the blackness enclosed.   
_“Stop.”  
“Oh, Deano, you know this can ALL stop. You just gotta say the word, kiddo.”  
“Never. I’ll never – AAARRRGHH!”  
“That’s a beautiful song, Dean! Sing it louder!”  
“AHHH! No, please…”_  
He felt every slice… every bit. Slice, upon slice, upon slice, upon jab, upon twist. Agony. Every second. 

…

“Dean?”  
Sam tapped the side of his fist against Dean’s bathroom door. It had been 20 minutes since Sam heard the water shut off and still there was no sign of Dean.   
When there was no answer Sam’s heart started pounding a mile a minute, practically leaping into his throat.   
“Dean? Open up.”  
Sam jiggled the doorknob and found it locked. Dean was an idiot sometimes. He wasn’t supposed to lock that door incase of an emergency, like they could be having right now, _and Dean had locked the friggen door._  
Sam pressed his ear to the door and could hear rapid, heavy breathing. It wasn’t a good sound to hear but, hey, at least he _was_ breathing.   
“Dean!” Sam banged against the door again, louder, firmer.   
Dean sounded scared in there, and if Sam had to guess, he was having a flashback, or a ‘waking nightmare’, whatever they wanted to call it. Sam jiggled the handle again. He should have come to investigate sooner. Dean could have been standing there, or sitting there, for 20 minutes, not even knowing where he was, but thinking he was still in the depths of hell getting torn apart.   
“Dean, you’re okay. Listen to me, Dean. I’m here. Just listen to my voice. Dean?”  
Sam pressed his ear to the door again, listening for the breaths.  
“Sam?” Dean’s voice was husky, and strained, higher pitched than usual.   
“Dean! Open the door, please. It’s okay. It’s over. You’re here with me now, remember?”  
Dean launched into a long coughing fit and eventually Sam heard him retching.   
“Open the door. It’s okay, man.”  
Sam only heard Dean throw up once, and he was pretty sure it was just because he couldn’t get his fit under control.   
Sam was practically bouncing at the door until Dean clicked it open. He stood there, a towel wrapped around his waist, pale and drawn, shaking from exertion and fever too probably.   
“I… forgot where I was,” he said, sluggishly licking his lips.  
Sam sighed and, failing to resist his manly upbringing, wrapped his arms around his brother and pulled him in close. He felt Dean’s breath on his neck, and soon enough one arm came across his shoulders and Dean hugged back, gripping him a little too tightly. Sam bit his lip to stop from gasping at the pain in his ribs. He was sure Dean was hurting more than he was anyway.   
“You’re okay now.”  
Dean sighed near his ear and Sam felt him relax a little too much. Afraid he might collapse, Sam steered him towards his bed. Dean sat heavily and coughed a little.  
“I’m alright, Sam.”  
Sam nodded, furrowing his brow.  
“ _Really_. I just… you know, had a thing,” Dean waved his hand around his head.   
“You can’t lock that door,” Sam said calmly, trying not to make it sound like an order.  
“Sorry,” was all Dean said. Then he took a deep breath and straightened. “How long was I in there?”  
“All up about 45 minutes. I heard the water shut off like 25 minutes ago.”  
“Geez,” Dean groaned, shaking his head.  
“Do you think you should,” Sam took a breath, tiptoeing around the subject, “make another appointment with the psychiatrist?”  
“No, Sammy. I’m good,” Dean answered way too quickly.  
Sam nodded, “Okay.”  
Dean rubbed his hand over his face, “Now, grab me my pants and let’s hit the town,” he winked. 

…


	16. Chapter 16

Sam was sure Dean didn’t need to be going out right now. He should have been at home in bed, drugged up, and comfortable. But just seeing how Dean changed when he stepped into the bar was enough to put any and all of his doubts to rest. Dean needed stimulus. Dean needed other people. Dean needed environments like this.   
“Heya, Riley,” Dean grinned as he eased himself into the booth.  
She grabbed his arm and he allowed her to help him. Sam wanted to raise an eyebrow but he didn’t dare alter his expression. It was weird Dean would let someone do that for him. Which spoke volumes about Dean and Riley’s relationship.  
“Hey, stud. How you been?” she popped her hip and leaned against the chair back.  
“I’ve had better days, I’ll tell you that.”  
“Want me to bring you some steak?” she offered, face in a comically adorable frown.   
“God, yes,” Dean smiled up at her.  
For a moment they laughed, and then Dean must have seen past her to the bottles on the wall behind the bar because his face changed. He swallowed thickly and looked shaken. Riley flicked a glance to Sam and moved directly into Dean’s line of vision.  
“Don’t thank me just yet, it’s lean with steamed vegetables and mashed potato. Little brother’s orders.”  
A statement like that usually would have made Dean pissed. But she said it in a way that was provoking, playful, and flirtatious. Dean was a goner.  
He feigned annoyance, “Yeah, well, I’m only going along with it ‘cause I like my liver where it is.”  
Riley leaned over and rubbed a hand across the back of his shoulders, “I’ll go and get chef to put it on for you. Do you want some water?”  
“Yes, please,” Sam answered.  
Riley nodded, “What’ll you have, Sam?”  
“Chicken Caesar, thanks,” he smiled.  
Dean rolled his eyes.   
Riley laughed and Sam saw Dean relax even further.   
“Kay, be right back,” she smirked.   
Dean drummed his fingers against the table.  
“So, Sammy… spoken to Bobby lately?”  
Sam studied his brother for a moment. His eyes showed guilt, along with a bit of sorrow, contradicting the flippant way in which he asked the question.   
“Yeah, I called him this morning. He’s doing good.”  
Dean pursed his lips and nodded.   
“See, he didn’t answer when I called…” Dean left the statement hanging in the air, tangible in its grief.   
“He’s been on the road a lot. I’m sure he was just driving at the time.”  
Dean nodded, but his teeth were clenched and he looked out the window to his right.   
Riley came back at that time with a bottle of water and two glasses.   
“Do you need anything else, honey?” she asked, assessing Dean.  
Dean smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes, and Sam realized just how tired his brother looked.  
“I’m good, sweetheart.”  
“Okay,” she chirped and left again. Sam watched how Dean leaned forward to check out her ass.  
“Don’t even think about it, dude.”  
Dean smirked, “I can look.”  
“How’s things going with her?” Sam quirked an eyebrow.  
“What do you mean?”  
“You know what I mean,” Sam grinned, trying not to make his brother feel cornered.  
“We’re not shopping for curtains if that’s what you mean.”  
“Right…”  
“What?” Dean shrugged, “We have fun, Sam. That’s it. You know what our life’s like. You know we can’t get too tied down.”  
Sam played with the napkin in front of him, “Why not?”  
Dean narrowed his gaze, “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.”  
“What?”  
“You got something you need to tell me?”  
“What? No. I was just saying, why can’t we? I mean, now’s as good a time as any.”  
Dean’s face went a little red and Sam wished he hadn’t said anything at all.   
There was an awkward silence as Sam tried to figure out what to say to fix the damage he’d done, but Dean coughed and gave them both a welcome distraction. Sam poured him a drink as the fit failed to control itself.   
“ _Shit_ ,” Dean cursed, in between coughs.   
His hand was shaking as he lifted the glass to his lips. He leaned back in the seat and tilted his head back, taking controlled breaths.   
“I’m so sick of being sick,” he said with a thick sniff.   
Sam refrained from lecturing him on why he was still sick and just tried for an empathetic approach.  
“I know, dude.”   
Dean sniffed again, “God, I gotta sneeze.”  
Sam handed him a napkin, “Brace on the table, man. Be careful.”  
Dean put a hand against the table and the other wrapped the napkin around his nose.   
He jerked forward with a sneeze, paused, then sneezed a second time.   
“Your back all right?”  
Dean sniffled and relaxed, “Relatively.”  
“Just let me know when you’ve had enough and we’ll head home.”  
Dean just nodded, rubbing his fingers over his forehead.   
“How’re your ribs?” Dean asked, trying to deflect.  
“They’re okay,” Sam shrugged, thinking better of lying to his brother, “Hurts a little when I bend.”  
“I’ll bet. You should have some painkillers tonight.”   
“Yeah, okay.”  
Dean sipped his water again and looked in the direction of the bar. Sam didn’t know whether he was looking for Riley or looking longingly at the alcohol on the back wall. It probably wasn’t a good idea to bring his brother here.   
“So, you think you’ll be okay for rehab tomorrow?” Sam changed the subject, trying to keep his brother engaged in conversation.  
Dean cleared his throat, “Sure.”   
Riley came back over with their meals and set them down in front of them.  
“Here you go, boys.”  
Dean crinkled his nose.  
“What?” Sam said, smiling.  
“It’s _green_.”  
Riley laughed, “It’s a vegetable. It’s supposed to be green.”  
Dean’s face crinkled up even more and he poked his food with a fork.  
“Dean, just eat it please. It’s good for you.”  
“Fine. _God._ ”  
Riley laughed again and left them to it.  
Sam tried to keep things light, to keep talking to distract his brother, and for a time it seemed to work. Dean seemed relaxed and settled, but Dean tired easily these days, and Sam could see the telltale flush of pink of his cheeks, broadcasting his high temperature. He was coughing on and off too, sometimes trying to muffle it in the middle of a conversation, sometimes having to take full minutes out to control himself. He ate all of his meal though, and that was a good sign. But he was glancing towards the bar more and more, fidgeting with anything he could get his hands on to occupy himself, and Sam knew that this was hard for Dean, _very_ hard.  
Dean licked his lips and brought a shaky hand to his mouth.  
“You okay?” Sam asked.  
Dean’s eyes flitted around, “I, uh, I think we should go.”  
“Okay,” Sam said calmly, starting to stand up, “You feeling alright?”  
“No, I… no.”  
Sam rounded the table and helped his brother stand, handing him his crutches.   
“I gotta see Riley. Meet you outside?”  
Dean looked shaken, but he nodded and headed towards the door.  
Sam went up to the bar and nodded at Riley. She glanced around him like she was looking for Dean and then came over.  
“Everything alright?” she asked.  
“Nah, I think… I think it was too much bringing him here. I’ll just grab my cheque and get him home.”  
“Sure, Sam. Be right back.”  
Riley turned, her long ponytail swishing behind her. 

…

Dean stepped outside into the cool air and took a breath in, looking up towards the sky. He had never realized what alcohol was to him. He’d never realized just how much he depended on it, just how much he _needed_ it, just how much he wanted it. Until right now. In that moment when he’d sat with his brother in the bar, with a glass of water in his hand, he’d realized something.  
He was an alcoholic.   
His hands shook as he tried to hold the crutches steady, and his chest moved up and down rapidly, his heart pounding, and a lump in his throat. He’d wanted a drink _so badly_. Even then, waiting for Sam to come outside, he was trying to think of a way to get back in there and down some whiskey without him knowing. But he was sure the whole staff knew not to serve him.   
He’d started to freak out, feeling like he was suffocating in there. He could smell it. He could see people sloshing glasses and bottles about, spilling liquid on the floor, on the bar. And, my god, he’d like it off the floor if that was the only way he was going to get it.   
“You okay?” Sam appeared beside him, probably knowing better than to touch him.   
“Let’s go,” he said, sniffing thickly.   
He just wanted to get away.

…

Dean screamed and screamed. He’d already screamed himself hoarse. Sam had spoken to both neighbours already. And for the first few hours the noise had been pretty disturbing, but now Dean’s voice was pretty well gone, still he tried anyway.   
Sam sat next to him on the bed, holding Dean’s arms down by his side as he struggled against him.  
“Dean! Wake up! Dean, come on.”  
It was the same thing he’d been saying the whole time, trying to hold his brother still, trying to get him to wake up.  
“Dean!”  
“ _Noooooo!_ ” Dean’s voice was raw and breathy, painful sounding.  
His throat was hurting before he went to bed. It would be agony when he woke up.   
“Dean, please. Settle down. It’s okay…”  
It was no use. Sam was talking to himself.   
Sam himself was sweating. It’d been close to three hours he’d been trying to get any sense out of Dean. Short of throwing a bucket of water on him, he had no ideas left.   
A banging came on the door.  
“Sam!”  
Sam turned from his brother, it was Bobby.  
“I’ll be right back, Dean.”  
Sam hurried down the hall in bare feet and flung the front door open.  
“Need some help?” Bobby said with a weary smile.  
Sam could have collapsed right there, but Dean screamed again.  
Bobby came in and shut the door behind himself. He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezed, looking him in the eye.   
“Come on, son.”  
Dean was panting, his breathing out of control. His lungs crackled with the remnants of pneumonia. And he _kept screaming._  
Bobby wet a towel and came back, wiping over Dean’s face.   
“Dean, please, wake up,” Sam was still holding him down against the bed, because the way Dean was thrashing he was going to injure himself even more.   
“Dean, son. Listen to me. You’re dreaming. You need to calm down, boy,” Bobby said firmly.   
For a second Dean still struggled, and then he started to slow.  
“Dean! You’re okay… you’re safe. Open your eyes, Dean,” Sam kept talking.  
Both of them did, and eventually, Dean stopped.  
He didn’t open his eyes though, he just stilled, stopped screaming. His head lolled to the side and he tried to catch his breath. Bobby wiped the sweat away from where it was pooling in the curves of his neck.   
“Bobby…” Dean’s voice was weak and rough, and his eyes still weren’t open.  
Bobby stopped, “It’s me, son.”  
Dean kept his eyes closed but reached a hand out until he found Bobby’s arm and wrapped his fingers around the flannel of Bobby’s shirt.   
Bobby smiled.  
Eventually Dean started to go lax.  
“Dean, open your mouth. I gotta give you pills.”  
Sam and Bobby rolled Dean to one side and tilted his head up. Sam slipped a small pill in his mouth and then the rim on the water glass. Dean choked a little and Bobby rubbed his back.  
“Swallow, boy. It’s alright…”  
Sam did the same thing again with two more pills and then let Dean roll back onto his back.  
“What you give him?”  
Sam rubbed his face with both hands, “Valium… and some Tylenol for the fever.”  
“Okay, good job, son. Now go and get some sleep.”  
“No, it’s okay,” Sam propped himself up, elbows on knees, “I’m good. I’ll stay.”  
“Bull,” Bobby announced, “You’re dead on your feet. Get some sleep. I’m watching him.”  
Sam dragged himself to his feet, sucking in a breath as he felt his ribs shift.  
“Ribs still bothering you?” Bobby asked, noticing straight away.  
“A little…”  
“It takes a long time for ribs to heal, Sam. You gotta take it easy.”  
Sam closed his eyes and sighed, “Take it easy,” he repeated.  
“Sam… I’m sorry I took that hunt.”  
Sam turned to face him, “Don’t apologise for that. Someone’s gotta pick up our slack.”  
“Sam…”  
“I’m going to bed.”  
Bobby nodded, “Get some rest.”  
“Wake me up if he… If anything happens.”  
“Sure, Sam.”  
Sam took another look at his brother, who seemed to finally have his breathing under control and looked peaceful at last. He nodded towards Bobby and then went down the hall to his room. He shut the door and started taking his shirt off. His body ached and protested the movement. He moaned a little as he got free from the fabric and stared at his chest in the mirror. The bruises were turning a harsh yellow. He ran a hand across his chest before climbing into bed with no shirt on, sprawling out on his back because it was the only way he could get comfortable. As an afterthought he realized he probably should have taken some painkillers but he was too tired to get up, and the sound of silence, finally, was beautiful. He closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep. 

…


	17. Chapter 17

When Dean woke up he felt like he’d been on a bender. It felt like one of those mornings where he’d woken up in some chick’s bed, halfway across town, with no memory of how he got there or what this girl’s name was, half naked, pounding headache, dry mouth and the urge to vomit up whatever alcohol remained in his system. But he wasn’t drunk. And there was no girl. And he was in his bed, at home. And he was just really, really ill.   
It took him a moment to get his head around what had happened, to try and piece together things from the previous night. He glanced around the room and saw a bucket of water with a few towels in it. The covers were pulled down and his shirt was off. He must have spiked a fever. His muscles ached, especially in his arms and chest. He was sore all over. He rolled to the side and coughed weakly, not wanting to hurt his abs or chest from the force of it.   
He managed to get to a sitting position and the way it left him out of breath told him he maybe needed a nebulizer treatment. He could feel the crackles in his lungs. The machine was on his bedside table so he set it up, pouring the medicine into the mask with shaking hands. The humming whir of the machine almost put him back to sleep. He drifted, eyes slipping open and closed as he sat hunched on the edge of his bed.   
For some reason he had this pain in his chest… and it wasn’t from the pneumonia. He felt on edge, worried, and just… crushing sadness. He knew he’d had nightmares. There were bruises on his arms, he noted, feeling sweat prickle out of every pore. But there was nothing particular about this day that would make him notably sadder than usual, and still he was. For a moment he didn’t feel any reason to get up out of his bed. He could just stay there. Forever.   
He opened his eyes and realized more time had passed than he thought. The machine was pushing out air but the medicine was long dried up. He pulled the mask off his face and turned it off. Taking a moment to feel the ease of breathing now that he had some relief. When he mustered the strength to stand he crumpled forward, catching himself on the wall. His back was tight and stiff, and the muscles in his chest didn’t seem to like stretching out over his ribcage as he straightened. He decided to forgo looking in the mirror. He didn’t want to see his own face today. He found his crutches and tucked them to his sides, and began his shuffle down the hallway.

…

Sam was still tired the next morning. He forced himself up, early, because he knew there was work to be done. He did a few loads of washing and was sticking one in the dryer when Bobby came up behind him.  
“You want some breakfast, son?”  
Sam jumped a little, and turned, “I was just about to make it. Just finishing up the laundry.”  
“I’ll put it on, Sam. You’re busy enough.”  
“But… No. I can, I can do it, Bobby. You just got back from a hunt, you’re probably exhausted. And you stayed up with Dean all night.”  
“Naw, Sam. He settled down. I got enough sleep. Just let me look after you both, would ya?”  
Sam huffed a smile and relaxed, “Okay. Thanks, Bobby.”  
Bobby smiled, sighed an ‘idjit’ under his breath as he left to go make breakfast. 

…

Dean could hear people talking in the kitchen and when he got there he was surprised to see Bobby had come back, after avoiding speaking to him since he’d messed up a few days ago and said something pretty awful. They both glanced in his direction as he walked in. He still hadn’t put a shirt on, and was walking pretty stiffly, even with the crutches as an aid. Bobby seemed to tense up when he saw him, and he knew, even if his apology was accepted, Bobby would never be the same with him again.  
“Morning, Dean,” Sam came over to him, assessing eyes checking him over as his hand hovered near him, as though he didn’t trust him not to fall, “How are you?”  
Dean went to answer but a cough stole his breath and Sam ended up catching him under the arm.  
“Easy, dude,” he soothed.  
Dean cleared his throat, “M okay.”  
God, his voice was wrecked. Practically all air and no sound, scratchy and painful.   
“Geez, Dean,” was all Sam said, visibly wincing at the sound of his voice.  
Dean coughed again lightly and continued walking to the couch. He nodded at Bobby, saving his abused throat the pain of speaking.   
“Guessing your throat’s sore today?” Bobby added, wryly.  
Dean nodded, massaging his adam’s apple as he let Sam help him to sit down.  
“What the hell was I doing last night?”  
Sam looked sheepish.  
“Sam.”  
He swallowed, “You were having a pretty bad nightmare… screaming and thrashing around.”  
“Guessing you did that,” Dean said, gesturing to his arms.  
“Oh, man. I’m sorry. You were just… you were gonna hurt yourself if I didn’t –“  
“It’s okay, Sam,” Dean said, feeling more tired than he’d ever been.  
Sam stared at him for a moment, steeling his jaw. Before Dean could growl at him to quit it he relaxed.  
“You up for some breakfast? Scrambled eggs should feel good on your throat.”  
Dean flicked his eyes over to Bobby who was spooning eggs onto a plate in the kitchen, pretending like he wasn’t listening.  
“Sure,” Dean smiled.

…

At some point during the day Dean found enough energy to shower and put on clothes. There was weird vibe in the house with Bobby there. Because Sam had been with them the whole time and it kind of seemed like Bobby only spoke to Dean out of formality, of duty, or some crap. And if Dean wasn’t on edge to begin with… he didn’t want to feel uncomfortable in his own house, dammit.   
He was sitting at the breakfast bar, pushing around his mug of luke warm coffee. He glanced at Bobby, sitting in the armchair, and realized that now Sam had gone to work, it was just the two of them. Dean swiveled on the chair and grabbed his crutches. He got to his feet and crutched over to the couch, standing there awkwardly in front of Bobby.  
“Bobby,” he said, his voice husky.  
Bobby finally raised his head to look at him.  
“Something you need, Dean?”  
“Look…”  
“Dean,” Bobby folded his paper, began trying to stop him.  
“Would you just… let me say something? I’ve been trying to talk to you for days. You won’t answer my calls. You’ll talk to Sam though.”  
Bobby frowned, looking down.   
“Now, would you listen to me?”  
Bobby lifted his gaze.  
“I’m sorry for what I said to you. I hadn’t slept in 3 days and I was… I was out of line. And, I mean, it’s not an excuse. You’ve always been there for me, for us and…   
“Dean, you don’t have to –“  
“Just listen! God, I’m trying to talk to you.”  
Bobby stayed quiet.  
“Now, I’m a stupid son of a bitch, and I’m losing my mind, and I say things I don’t mean, and I just… I need you, Bobby. We need you. And you don’t have to be here all the time. I know you gotta be out there huntin’, but just… come back.”  
Bobby finally smiled, “I always do. And I always will.”  
Dean felt himself welling up, “Well, good.”  
“Now, do we have to talk about our feeling all damn day?”  
Dean smirked, “Not when there’s cookin’ to be doing. Get in the kitchen and make my favourite chili.”  
“You’re pushing your luck.”  
“Sorry,” Dean ducked his head, trying for cute.  
“Aw, hell. Fine. Sit your ass down,” Bobby said, getting out of the chair.  
“Yes,” Dean celebrated.   
“Don’t get used to it.”  
“’Course not,” Dean smiled wryly.   
…

Bobby took Dean to rehab after lunch and walked him inside. He tried to make it seem like it was because he wanted to be there in case he fell, but Dean knew at least a little part of him was doubting whether he’d actually go or not.  
“Hey, Dean,” Katie said, wandering past him while he was doing leg exercises with his physio, Grant.  
“Hey, Katie. How you been?” Dean grunted, pushing his leg into Grant’s hand with gentle resistance.  
“Good. Healing,” she smiled.  
Dean looked at her a moment. Her hair was curled softly around her face. It was shorter now, cutting off just above her shoulders.  
“Okay, that’s good. You can stop there, Dean,” Grant said, straightening.   
“I’ll talk to you later,” Katie said, leaving them to it.  
As she walked away Dean realized she was wearing short yoga pants, and for the first time he saw her prosthetic. But he wasn’t really paying attention to that… because her ass was incredible.  
“Hey. Earth to Winchester.”  
Dean looked back and Grant was staring at him expectantly.  
“I’m listening.”  
“Sure you were,” he smirked, “I may not be the best at picking up on these things… but I think she likes you,” he added sarcastically.  
Dean laughed airily, his voice still struggling after the night before, “Nah.”  
“Dude, she was always going up to the hospital to see you.”  
“Yeah, but she volunteers there.”  
“Only one day a week,” Grant said, helping Dean up onto the bed.  
Dean sat down and stared ahead for a second.  
“You didn’t know she was coming up to see you,” Grant said, more of a statement than a question.  
Dean cleared his throat, looked down, “No, I… I didn’t.”

…

Dean finished a little earlier than Katie, but he hung around so he could talk to her. She looked a little tired walking out of the physio room, but perked up when she saw him sitting at reception.  
“Hey, what are you still doing here?” she asked, happily.  
Dean had asked himself the same question a hundred times. He’d had several arguments with himself and lost them all. He’d missed seeing Katie nearly everyday. He’d missed her unshakable positivity, her understanding. The way she would just listen to Dean and stay silent when there was no way to respond. He liked how she talked when he needed to hear something other than his own thoughts. And he liked how they could sit in silence together. She cared so much about other people. She had so much emotion. And maybe that’s why Dean liked her, because he saw in her exactly what he lacked.  
“I wanted to see you,” he rasped, his voice almost failing him.   
She blushed, and sat down next to him when he made no move to get up.  
“You sound a bit rough, sweetie,” she looked at him with a furrowed brow, like she wanted to mother the crap out of him.   
“I’ve had better nights,” he winced, coughing.  
“How are you?” she asked, and he knew she was asking more than the usual casual introduction. She wanted to know exactly how he was, physically and mentally.   
“I’m okay.”  
She nodded, and Dean knew she could see right through him.  
“Did you want to maybe,” Dean cleared his throat, “have a dr –“  
He stopped. Have a drink. That was what he was going to say.   
“Coffee?” she finished for him  
Dean felt his face heating up and he cleared his throat yet again, “I, uh, yeah… did you want to get coffee or something, sometime… with me?”  
Katie smirked, “Dean Winchester, are you asking me out on a date?”  
Dean felt his chest tighten. He was so close to calling the whole thing off, bolting for the parking lot, except he couldn’t exactly bolt.  
“I guess I am,” he said, voice thoroughly wrecked.   
Katie leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on Dean’s cheek.   
“I’d love to go on a date with you.”  
Dean could feel his heart beating a mile a minute. He felt like a stupid high school kid. The whole thing seemed ridiculous. Why was he even doing this?   
“Take a breath, honey.”  
Dean took a breath in, looking back at Katie’s face, realizing he’d been starting to panic again.   
“Sam picking you up?”  
“No, uh, Bobby’s picking me up. I should call him,” he said, taking his phone out of his pocket.   
“My mum’s out the front. Do you want her to drop you off? It’s no trouble.”  
Katie had moved back in with her folks since her accident. Something they’d talked about on one of their breakfast dates at the hospital.  
Dean rubbed a hand up and down his thigh nervously. He wanted to talk to her more. He wanted to set a date and time for their little catch up. He wanted to look at her face a little longer. But he didn’t want to meet her mum. And he didn’t want them going to his house, knowing where he lived. It should have been an easy question to answer but…  
“It’s okay,” she said, shaking her head softly.  
“No,” Dean cut her off, “That’d be great if you could, uh, give me a ride.”  
She smiled, and stood up, “Come on then.”  
She bent to help him, watching how he got up like Grant watches him, making sure he’s doing it right and isn’t going to hurt himself.   
Katie had her hand under his upper arm as they walked together out to the parking lot.  
“That’s my mums car,” she pointed, directing him towards a blue Toyota corolla.   
Dean veered towards the back door but Katie opened the front passenger door for him, leaning in to say something to her mum. Katie adjusted the seat so it was all the way back, accommodating for Dean’s 6’1” frame. Dean felt awkward having Katie help him into the car. He’d had to get used to several people doing that for him lately. He was a little uncomfortable adding pretty girls to the list.   
“Hi, Dean. How are you?” Katie’s mum smiled warmly at him. She was pretty hot for her age. Dean could see where Katie got it from.  
“Hey, how are ya?” Dean replied casually, as Katie got in the back seat.  
“Dean, this is my mum, Carol.”  
“Nice to meet ya,” he rasped.  
“Oh, darling, you need some honey tea.”  
Dean coughed, feeling weak and sick.  
“Mum makes amazing tea. She makes me honey tea anytime I’m sick, I swear, it’s a cure all,” Katie chirped happily from the back.  
Dean chuckled, deciding it was for the best to save his voice.   
Dean directed Carol to the house using as little words as possible, smiling as they made casual chit chat between each other, mostly leaving him out of it, probably out of respect. Picking up on the vibe that he was one hundred thousand percent done. If he didn’t have to be giving directions he’d already have fallen asleep.   
“I’ll help you inside,” Katie said, as they pulled up in the driveway.  
Dean didn’t have enough time to protest. His brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders lately.  
“It was nice to meet you, Dean,” Carol said, smiling at him.  
Dean nodded to her, “Thanks for the ride.”  
“Not a problem at all.”  
When they got up to the front door Dean could feel himself sweating.   
“Uh, thanks,” Dean said, looking down at her. He always forgot how short she was until she was standing right next to him. “So, uh, when do you want to… hang out?”  
Katie smiled and looked down shyly, “I’m free tomorrow. How about 11?”  
Dean cleared his throat, “Sounds good.”  
“Get some rest, Dean,” she said, rubbing his arm.  
“I’ll text you later,” Dean’s voice cut out and he coughed into his shoulder, hands still on his crutches.   
Katie smiled at him, “I look forward to it.”

…


	18. Chapter 18

When Sam got home from work at after one in the morning Dean was still sitting up watching TV. He looked like his eyes were hanging out of his head and his voice was even softer, rougher, more jagged than it had been that morning.   
"Hey, Sam."  
He coughed after speaking.   
"Hey, man. What're you doing up?"  
Dean shrugged, half avoiding the question, half saving his voice.   
"It's late, dude. You should get some sleep," Sam put his keys down on the bench and studied his brother.   
"Nah-" Dean's voice literally cut out, all breath, no sound. Dean cleared his throat and pretended like nothing happened.   
Sam sighed inwardly, and started filling the kettle. He heard a squeak from Dean's direction and looked over. Dean was rubbing his throat.   
"I'm making you a cup of tea and then you're going to bed."  
Dean glared.   
"Don't fight me, dude."  
With that he huffed and turned the volume up on the TV. A silent screw you.   
"Is Bobby sleeping?"  
Dean cleared his throat and nodded.   
_Well, maybe you shouldn't turn the TV up_ , Sam thought.   
Dean must have read his mind because the volume returned to a normal level.   
Sam quietly made the tea, and swallowed down one of Dean's painkillers. When he was done he handed the cup to Dean and sat next to him in silence, watching a home renovation show without saying a word.   
The warm tea must have loosened up Dean’s sinuses because he was sniffling every few seconds. When Dean stifled a sneeze into his elbow Sam, without looking at him, leant forward and grabbed the tissue box off the coffee table and set it between them on the couch. For a moment Dean didn’t move, and then Sam heard the swishing noise of several tissues being yanked from the box, and tried not to smile.  
By the time the mug was empty Dean's eyes were looking heavy and his nose and cheeks were rosy from the constant rubbing. Sam took the mug from his hand and placed it on the coffee table.   
"You ready to get some shut eye?"  
Dean visibly stiffened, his eyes briefly flashing with fear.  
“I know you don’t want to sleep… but you’ve tried going without it and it doesn’t work either.”  
Dean cleared his throat, “I’ll stay here,” he whispered roughly.   
“Dean, you can’t sleep out here. It’s not comfortable.”  
Dean smirked, but like he was sad, not amused. “I need,” he pointed with the remote towards the TV, “the noise… ‘t’s a distraction.”  
Sam huffed out a resigned breath and nodded.  
“Besides, I don’t think I can get down that hallway… and you’re in no position to drag me down it either.”  
At least the tea had given Dean some of his voice back, but he still sounded awful. He had a point though. Sam was hurting after working a full shift, even with that painkiller finally starting to kick in. Riley wasn’t making him lift any heavy crates but even just reaching for the top shelf pulled on his ribs, and after hours of work he was sore. Dean looked like he was too tired to get out of the chair, and Sam couldn’t lift him.   
“You’re too long for the couch, dude,” Sam said, rubbing his eyes, fighting the pull of sleep.  
“I’ll sleep in the recliner.”  
Sam glanced over to the armchair recliner, it was only a few feet away and it was still probably too far.  
“Did you take your pills?”  
“Yes, mum.”  
“Do you want a valium?”  
“No,” Dean grunted angrily.   
“I’ll get you a blanket.”  
Sam got up and grabbed Dean a blanket. He watched Dean shakily make it to the recliner, clinging to the TV remote the whole time.   
By the time he was set he was almost asleep in the chair and Sam considered that a win, so he said goodnight, before he had to get up and do it all again the next day.

…

Dean may have slept for a few minutes at most. He’d dreamed of hell and had woken up panting, shaking, scared. He rubbed a hand down his face. The show on TV had changed and now it was some emergency room crap, like Doctor Sexy MD but without the drama. Dean saw blood and changed the channel quickly, finding a kids channel playing cartoons and leaving it there.   
As he sat there his mind started to wander, and he thought about Katie. What the hell was he thinking anyway? They’d organized to meet at a coffee shop nearby. He normally would pick a girl up but he wasn’t exactly allowed to drive just yet. He decided he wasn’t going to tell Sam or Bobby. They’d make a big deal out of it, insist on driving him. No. He was going to get a cab. How he was going to do any of it without a little liquid courage though he had no idea.   
Dean looked down and his hands were shaking, his mouth filled with saliva and he felt a dizzying high at just the thought of alcohol. Somewhere in his deranged mind he convinced himself that he needed alcohol, that it was the best thing for him. It made him sleep better, made him relax, made him forget… for a time. It made everything easier, and all he wanted was a little ease in his life. Everything had changed. He wasn’t a hunter anymore. He was hardly a brother anymore. He wasn’t anything anymore. 

…

Sam woke at 4am wondering what had woken him. He listened again and heard the TV, but more than that. There were noises in the kitchen. He got up and crept down the hall. He almost thought about taking his gun in case someone or something had made it in.   
He slowly peered around the corner and saw the back of Dean as he reached into the top shelf of the panty, pushing stuff around with angry force.   
Sam switched the light on and Dean jumped.  
“What are you doing?”  
Dean squinted towards the light and looked at Sam, licking his lips nervously, “I was hungry.”  
“Why were you looking on the top shelf?”  
“Nothing, I thought –“  
“You thought I didn’t know you hid your booze up there?”  
Dean sighed and leant on the counter.  
“Sam…”  
“You were looking for alcohol, weren’t you?”  
Dean opened his mouth.  
“Don’t lie to me, Dean.”  
“Look… you’re angry –“  
“Damn right, I’m angry!” Sam clenched his fist, “You’ve been in the hospital for _how long_? And you wanna do this all over again?”  
“Sam, please.”  
“You think I don’t get it?”  
A fire lit behind Dean’s eyes, “No, Sam, I don’t think you do. And I don't want you to. I hope you don’t _ever_ “get it”.”  
Sam sighed, “Dean, I just meant –“  
“You know what, Sam? I don’t give a rat’s ass what you meant. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for _any_ of this.”  
“I know… but, dammit, Dean, you’re gonna end up killing yourself. And I already had to bury you once...” Sam looked down, “I won’t do it again…”  
“I can’t,” Dean voice cut out and when Sam looked at him again he was struggling to form words, “I can’t sleep.”  
Sam’s chest literally ached at Dean’s confession.   
“And I… I’m struggling, man. Not just with this but with… everything.”  
Sam sighed, “I know you think alcohol will help… but it won’t.”  
Dean pushed himself up straighter and started walking, hanging onto the counter.  
“I’m going to bed.”  
“Do you need a hand -?”   
“No.”  
Dean’s curt response made Sam purse his lips. He watched his brother until he made it to his bedroom door and the sounds of shuffling footsteps disappeared. 

…

Sam was working a full day so he was gone before 11. Dean realized he was going to have to let Bobby in on it if he was going to get away with leaving unescorted, especially after his little display that night. So, he told him he was going on a date with Katie. Bobby just looked up from his paper and raised his eyebrows.  
 _“Well, it’s about time you did something about that.”_  
Bobby had smirked and seemed pretty pleased with the current situation. Dean was feeling pretty on edge after only a few hours of broken sleep, where he’d woken often, sweat soaked sheets clinging to him, body shaking, restless for a drink, _anything_. He tried to make himself look nice, even slapped his cheeks a few times, trying to get some colour back in his face. Not much had worked, but then, Katie had seen him a hell of a lot worse.   
Bobby agreed to letting Dean get a cab. Probably because he knew he would be embarrassed having his “uncle” drive him there. Dean took his crutches with him because the lack of sleep, compounding everything else, was making him a bit more unsteady than usual. 

…

“You’re quiet,” Katie said from across the table, playing with the straw in her peach iced tea, “Did you not sleep very well?”  
Dean curled his hand around his coffee mug and smirked, “Do I really look that bad?”  
“That’s not what I was –“  
Dean chuckled, breathlessly and waved a hand, “I know. I know. Actually I didn’t really sleep last night. I’m not very good company right now, I guess.”  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Katie smiled, “You’re always good company.”  
Dean felt his cheeks heat up and couldn’t help smiling, “Back at’cha.”   
She took another sip of her tea and twisted a finger in her hair, “So, Dean, even after all our morning talks you never once told me what you do for a living. I mean, before all this happened.”  
Dean looked down, suddenly feeling very ill.  
“Oh, come on,” she prodded, gently, “You know everything about me and I know very little about you… It was military, right?”  
“How’d you guess?” Dean smirked.  
“People talk,” she shrugged, “but I don’t like that. You can’t believe everything you hear. I want to hear it from you. I think… I mean, I know something happened to you.”  
“You don’t know what you’re asking me,” Dean said, shakily.  
“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. I don't want to pressure you. I just want you to know you can talk to me… about anything.”  
Dean scoffed, _unlikely_ , he thought.  
“You… served overseas?” she asked.  
Dean lowered his head, “You know I can’t tell you details.”  
She nodded, “Tell me whatever you feel like you need to.”  
Dean sighed, “I, uh… I spent some time… confined, for lack of a better word.”  
“Like a POW camp?”  
“I guess you could call it that… just… the things they did to me, the things they _made me_ do… you can’t even imagine.”  
“What they made you do?” she questioned.  
Dean flexed his fist, “I… I can’t. I’m sorry.”  
“It’s okay. I’m sorry I pried.”  
Dean took a few breaths in, “You know,” he cleared his throat, “part of the reason I like you is because, I dunno, you make me forget about all that. I don’t want to think about it when I’m with you.”  
“Okay,” she smiled warmly and grabbed his hand.   
Dean looked down, feeling a constricting in his chest.   
“Hey,” she said softly. Dean lifted his head to meet her eyes, “Stay here. Stay with me.”  
He could feel his mind wandering, getting caught up in hellish things. The air turning hot and stifling. His clothes feeling too tight against his body, too tight around his neck.   
“You’re okay.”  
Dean looked in Katie’s eyes and took a breath in. His fear melted away. Katie smiled and when he looked down he quickly let go of her hand, realizing he’d been gripping it with intense force.   
“Sorry,” he grunted, wiping his forehead with his napkin.   
“Don’t worry about it.”

…

Dean was drunk. Well and truly. And surprisingly, he didn’t feel any better. Truth be told he was screwed. Because he couldn’t go home like this. He had no car and couldn’t drive. And he was so drunk he could barely see his phone screen.   
“You alright, man? You should sit down.”  
He was standing out the front of the pub, trying to balance on his crutches. He could see why someone would think it was a bad idea. He didn’t think it was a great idea but he wasn’t really thinking at that point.   
“I’m good,” he mumbled and tried to operate his phone one more time.   
He scrolled down passed all the ‘Rebecca’s in his phone until he found Riley and hit call.  
 _“Hey, handsome.”_  
“Riley, how you doing, sweetheart?”  
The line was quiet for a while.  
 _“Dean, have you been drinking?”_  
“You’re not with my brother, are you?” Dean panicked.  
 _“No, it’s my night off. What’s happened?”_  
“I, um,” he coughed away from the phone, “I need you to come get me.”  
 _“Where are you?”_  
“I don't, uh… I don’t exactly know.”  
 _“Honey…”_  
“It’s… I dunno, there’s a leprechaun on the, the thing. Cheeky bastard.”  
 _“You’re at Lucky Larry’s. I’ll be there soon, okay? Just hang tight.”_  
“Riley, don’t tell Sam, please.”  
 _“I’m not going to. I’m leaving now. Just go inside and wait for me.”_  
“Thanks.”  
 _“Bye, Dean.”_  
Dean couldn’t go back inside, because he’d been cut off and asked to leave, so he shuffled over to a nearby park bench and sat down with a thud.   
“God, that friggen…” he winced, rubbing his back.   
One of his crutches fell to the ground and he left it there, afraid he’d face-plant if he tried to pick it up.

…

“Hey, Riley!”  
Riley grabbed Dean’s crutch off the ground and held both of them in her hands, sitting down next to Dean.   
“Hey, hotshot. What the hell were you thinking?”  
Dean actually laughed, “I don’t think there was a lot of… thinking going on.”  
“No,” she frowned, “Neither do I.”  
Dean shrugged.  
“Come on. You can stay the night at my place.”  
Dean rubbed his forehead, pressing his eyes shut. He couldn’t quite comprehend the seriousness of what he’d just done.  
“You got your medications and stuff with you?”  
“Umm…” Dean clumsily opened his jacket, patting his pockets.  
Riley’s hands knocked his out of the way, “Show me what you’ve got.”  
Dean flopped his hands down in his lap and let her rummage in his jacket.  
“You’ve got antibiotics and pain pills. Is that all you need?”  
“Mostly, I guess,” Dean shrugged, rubbing his eye.  
“Dean.”  
“Yeah, well, I put ‘em in there cause they’re important.”  
“Okay. Let’s get you home. Come on.”  
Dean watched Riley bend over the back seat and lay the crutches in the car. She had _super_ tight jeans on and a dark red shirt, also very tight. She was wearing a black leather jacket, for God’s sake.   
She came back and grabbed his arm, ready to assist him to stand.  
“What are you smirking at?”  
“I was just admiring the view.”  
Riley rolled her eyes at him, “Alright, Romeo, you can hit on me more when we’re _in_ the car.”  
Dean and Riley made it to the car by some miracle. Dean leaned on the roof for a moment, head down, feeling queezy.  
“Do _not_ puke in my car, sweetheart. If you gotta puke get it out now.”  
Dean straightened, feeling the world lurch. He turned and grabbed Riley around the waist, pulling her close.  
“You’re cute when you’re angry.”  
“And you’re a friggen jackass,” she said with a playful smile on her lips, “Get in the car and behave yourself. I’m holding all the cards right now, Winchester. Make a choice.”  
Dean clumsily rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, frowning, “Yes ma’am.”

…


	19. Chapter 19

“At what point do I have to call your brother?”  
Dean was hunched on the floor, head over the toilet, where he’d been for the last 20 minutes. His stomach was clenching, and he felt disgusting, head spinning.   
Riley was sitting up on her bed, watching him through the doorway. She was wearing only a pair of tiny black lace underpants and a white singlet. Her legs that went on for days stretched out in front of her.   
“Ah, let me think about that…” Dean mumbled sarcastically, and then threw up again.   
“If you pass out you know I have to take you to the hospital? I’m not even sure I shouldn’t be doing that right now.”  
“I’m fine,” Dean grunted.  
“You’re drunk.”  
“It would –“ he coughed, “seem that way.”  
Riley got up and leaned against the doorframe, staring down at Dean.  
“You about done in here?”  
Dean sagged against the arm he had resting on the toilet bowl, “I think so.”  
“Ready to come to bed?”  
Dean nodded.  
Riley managed to get him up off the floor and steer him towards the bed. He flopped down on his back and slammed his eyes shut.  
“Room spinning?” she enquired with a little too much amusement.   
“ _Urrrrgh,_ ” Dean groaned.   
“Come on, let’s sit you up a bit more.”  
Riley got Dean set up on a few more pillows and took up position beside him, her hand on his chest.  
The lamp beside her was on and she grabbed a book from the nightstand, sitting up against the headboard, her other hand still rubbing soft circles on Dean’s chest.   
“What have you got?” Dean asked, one eye open.  
“A book,” she smiled, “Go to sleep.”  
“I haven’t had my… stuff yet.”  
“I know, but I’m not giving it to you if you’re going to puke it up.”  
Dean moaned.  
Riley chuckled, “I’ll wake you up in a bit.”  
“You’re not going to sleep?” Dean asked, words running together.  
“I usually stay up a bit later than 8pm,” she laughed.  
“Is’at the time?”  
“Sure is,” she changed her soothing circles to light scratches.  
Dean was silent for a moment, “I screwed up, didn’t I?”  
“Don’t think about it, honey. Just go to sleep.”  
“I might… have a nightmare,” he opened both eyes and fixed them on her.   
“That’s okay.”  
“No, it’s not.”  
“Dean…” she bent down and kissed his forehead, letting her lips linger there for a moment, “You’re warm.”  
“Mm…”  
Both of them were quiet for a moment.  
“I went on a date today.”  
Riley’s hand stilled on his chest, “Really?”   
“With Katie.”  
Riley raised her eyebrows, “That cute little thing from the hospital?”  
Dean grinned, sleepily, “She is cute, isn’t she?”  
“Do you _like_ her?”   
Dean frowned, “So, what if I do?”  
Riley smiled, “Nothing,” she shrugged, “And I know we’re not anything… but let me ask you this,” she leaned right down near Dean’s face, her hand running through his short hair, “When you needed help tonight, why did you call me and not her?”  
Dean stared at her with his big green eyes, face looking almost forlorn, “What?”  
She grinned and kissed him, “Never mind.”  
Dean grabbed her hand and put it back on his chest and she took the hint and started rubbing again.  
“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up to have your pills later.”  
Dean’s eyes were closed, “Promise?”  
Riley’s smile disappeared and she took a breath in, “I promise, Dean.”

…

When Dean woke up later he was still drunk, although the fog was beginning to lift. Riley was sitting cross-legged beside him, with a little plate with a few pieces of plain toast on it and a bottle of water, his pill bottles on the quilt in front of her.  
“Hey,” he grunted, his voice husky.  
“Hey, yourself.”  
“Time for pills?”  
“Mmhm, and you can eat something too.”  
Dean took the plate from her and looked down, unmoving for a while, “Did you tell Sam I was here?”  
Riley unscrewed the cap off the water bottle, “Yeah,” she said, taking a sip, and then handing the bottle to Dean.  
“What did he say?” Dean said, taking a sip himself and handing it back to her.  
“He said to be careful with you,” she grinned.  
Dean laughed, “God.”  
“Eat your toast,” Riley nodded, sipping from the water bottle again.  
“You shouldn’t share with me,” Dean pointed to the bottle with a triangle of toast.  
“I’ve kissed you, Dean. Damage is done.”  
“When did you kiss me?” Dean furrowed his brow.  
Riley grinned and stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth, “Don’t tell me I’m that forgettable,” she teased.  
Dean coughed, smiling, “You are many things, Riley. I’m not sure forgettable is one of them.”  
“Yeah, damn right,” she said, sitting back and grabbing her book again, “Eat your toast.”  
Dean quietly munched on his toast. He only made it through one and a half triangles before his stomach started turning and he thought it best to call it quits. Riley got his pills out for him, probably not trusting him to get out the right thing in his current state. He swallowed his pills with the same water bottle they were sharing and handed it back to her. She brushed her hand across his forehead and hummed.  
“I might need Tylenol,” Dean said, picking up on her concern.  
“You can’t have Tylenol with alcohol, honey. It’s bad for your liver.”  
Dean furrowed his brow in confusion, “How do you know that?”  
“I’ve run a bar for 6 years… and my sister’s a nurse.”  
“You have a sister?” Dean grinned.  
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned.  
Dean chuckled, and sipped the water again.   
Riley moved closer to him, so her hip was touching his side, her body warmth blending with his. She set her hand down on his chest again. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut. The room was still spinning in circles under closed eyelids, but the hand on his chest kept letting him know which way was up. And it might have been the alcohol numbing his pain, or the pills kicking in, or Riley… but he didn’t feel so scared for the first time in a long time. And he went to sleep. 

…

When Dean woke up he felt like his head was going to explode. The pain was agonizing. His mouth was dry and his body was shaking, cold sweat coating his skin. His stomach was cramping, as well as his back. He was alone in a bed that wasn’t his but he quickly recognized it to be Riley’s bedroom. Glancing around he could see she had a candle burning on the bedside table, filling the room with the subtle scent of vanilla. A book was open and upside down on the bed, holding her place, and a cup of coffee, still with steam curling off it sat next to the candle. Her dark curtains didn’t allow much light into the room but he could tell it was morning.   
Just as he was about to think about getting up Riley came back through the open door that went out into the kitchen/dining area.  
“It lives,” she smiled, “Good morning, darlin’. How you feeling?”  
She sat down at his hip and held out a cup of coffee to him.   
Dean avoided her question, “What happened?”  
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Riley raised her eyebrows, “You called me at 7pm, blind drunk. What were you doing drinking?”  
She didn’t sound angry with him and Dean was grateful for that. What he didn’t need right now was judgment. He would surely get that from Sam when he found out.   
“I don’t know,” Dean shook his head.  
“Okay,” she nodded, watching him take a sip of coffee.  
Dean finished his coffee and took a shower. It took a lot of energy out of him without the shower chair. Just having to stand long enough to wash himself was exhausting.   
When he came out, Riley was sitting at the table, eating a croissant and reading a magazine.  
“I have to go to work soon,” she told him, “Sam says to check your phone.”  
Dean sat down across from her and grabbed the croissant off her plate and took a bite. She didn’t react.  
“My phone’s dead.”  
Riley dusted off her fingers and picked up her phone, sending a text.   
“What does he want?”  
“He wants to know how you are.”  
“What are you going to tell him?”  
“I’m telling him you’re okay… avoiding the part where you’re completely hungover,” she smirked.   
Dean rubbed his face and smiled, “Thanks, Riley… you know, for everything.”  
She shrugged, “I’m asking Sam to start work early to give you more time to pull yourself together.”  
Dean coughed, “Sorry.”  
“I’m lying to your brother, Dean,” She raised an eyebrow, “I don’t like lying.”  
Dean stilled his hand, about to steal her croissant again. He looked at her dark eyes, “Then why are you?”  
She huffed, and pushed her plate towards him, “Because you’re an idiot.”  
Dean ate the last bit, licking his fingers, “Correct.”  
She smiled and got up, taking the now empty plate back to the kitchen. She was still wearing what she was last night and Dean had to stop himself from making a sexist, slightly inappropriate comment, even though he was sure she probably wouldn’t mind.   
She came back over to him with a big glass of water and a few pills.  
“Nurse Riley,” he said with delight.  
“Eat your heart out,” she grinned.   
As Dean sat, trying to get his twisting stomach under control, he started to remember a few things from the day before.   
Dean cleared his throat, “I didn’t, uh, say anything embarrassing last night, did I?”  
“Do you mean did you tell me you went on a date with another girl?” Riley said, sounding amused.   
Dean almost choked on his water.  
Riley laughed, “Relax, Dean. Like you said, we just have a bit of fun.”  
Dean swallowed, reading something more in Riley’s face.  
“Where are my clothes?” he asked, nonchalantly trying to change the subject.  
“They’re in the dryer. Your coat’s hanging up in the other room. They smelled a bit of booze and vomit,” she smirked.  
Dean felt his cheeks heat up, “Thanks.”  
“I’m going to shower,” She said, wrapping her hair up into a bun and tucking it under so it stayed there, “I assumed you wanted to get home but if you want to hang out here while I’m at work I don’t mind.”  
Dean knew Bobby would probably be home. He was still a wreck, his body wracking with tremors, the alcohol leaving his system. His stomach was uneasy and he wasn’t sure if the croissant wouldn’t make a sudden reappearance some time soon. His head was pounding and the pain in his chest was worse with every breath.   
“When are you leaving?” he rasped, having to clear his throat.  
“In about an hour.”  
Dean looked down at the ground, chewing on the inside of his lip. Bobby would see him. Bobby would know what he did.  
“You can stay,” Riley came over and kissed him on the top of his head.   
“Thanks,” Dean sighed, relief washing over him.  
“Go back to bed, sweetheart. You look like you need it.”

…

Dean only woke as Riley put a soft hand on his head and kissed him goodbye on her way to work. The next time he woke it was nearly lunchtime. He was covered in sweat, muttering to himself in his sleep as he dreamed of hooks, and blades, and strings, and metal, and teeth, and wire, and cold, sharp, fingernails. His breathing was out of control but it usually was when he first woke up. Riley had left a water bottle on the nightstand next to him and he pushed himself up to sit, rubbing a palm across his aching chest. His hand was shaking as he took a sip and somehow he didn’t think they’d ever be steady again, not after what he’d seen. Not after everything he’d gone through.   
He was distracted, thinking deeply, and didn’t swallow properly, causing a trickle of water to go the wrong way. He coughed and spluttered.  
“What the hell?” he croaked out, gripping the mattress and sinking to his knees at the raw pain in his chest.  
He coughed again and felt like a knife was in his ribs, a white hot poker.   
“Son of a bitch,” he winced, clutching a hand at his chest, the other pushing him up as he tried to get his feet under him.   
The pain in his chest was so bad he lost vision for a moment, the sound of the blood, hot in his ears, the only thing he could hear. Dean pressed forward somehow, trying to find his damn phone in the haze around him, because something wasn’t right, not at all. He couldn’t get a breath, and he was starting to panic.  
“ _Shit_ ,” he cursed. He’d made his way out to the kitchen, hanging onto the bench to keep standing.  
He tried breathing again, more deeply, and the pain was agonizing. He was in danger of passing out soon so he tried to take shallow sips of air, not enough to expand his lungs and cause that awful pain.   
Just as he felt his knees buckling he heard a key in the door and someone coming home.   
“Dean?” Riley called from the front of the house.  
Dean tried to straighten, clutching at anything on the bench. He ended up knocking a glass off, hearing it hit the floor and shatter.  
“Dean!” Riley was coming through the door now, “Oh my god, Dean.”  
Dean grabbed onto Riley, unable to stop himself sinking to the floor. She tried to help him but he was too heavy.  
“What’s wrong?”  
Dean took a few more shallow, wheezy breaths and glanced in her panicked eyes, “Might be… time to… call my brother.”

…


	20. Chapter 20

“Sam, pick up your damn phone. I’m taking Dean to the hospital.”  
“You’re gonna… freak him out,” Dean panted.  
“Why shouldn’t he freak out?” Riley sighed, “How you doing, stud?”  
Dean coughed, leaning forward and clutching at the dashboard of Riley’s car, “God,” he pressed his head against it, “My chest… friggen hurts.”  
“Okay, honey. Don’t talk anymore. Just take shallow breaths, okay?”  
Dean nodded, against the hard plastic of the dashboard, a hand fisted in his shirt.  
“We’ll be there soon,” Riley said, steering the car in the direction of the hospital.

…

“It looks like you’ve got some fluid build up in your pleural space around your lung, caused by the ongoing pneumonia. It’s not too bad at this stage, so we’ll give you some fluids for a few hours, antibiotics, and pain management.”  
Dr Reid looked at Dean over his glasses.  
Dean cleared his throat, “Okay…”  
He sighed and placed the folder on the table by Dean’s bed, “You know I wasn’t working here today… They called me when you came in.”  
Dean furrowed his brow.  
“You perplex me.”  
Dean scoffed, wincing and rubbing his chest.  
“You’re severely immune-compromised, Dean. And I want to know why. There’s no reason why a strong, young man like you can’t fight this off, but you’re not.”  
Dean swallowed and looked down, “I’m not strong.”  
Dr Reid picked up his folder, frowning, “Maybe that’s your problem right there.”  
Dean looked up at the doctor.  
“We’ll try and get you out of here in a few hours, but I want to run some tests while we’ve got you, so the nurses’ll be in and out.”  
“Sure, doc.”  
Reid looked solemnly at Dean and left.   
Dean tried to calm his racing heart. He knew the doc knew something. That he’d been out drinking. That he’d disobeyed. Even if he didn’t now, something in his blood or his urine would indicate it… surely. Although, there was no reason for him to say anything to Sam or Bobby. He had doctor patient confidentiality. He wouldn’t talk. At least that’s what he hoped.  
“You okay?” Riley was standing at the door.  
Dean nodded, closing his eyes and rubbing them hard with his fingers.  
“I called the bar but Sam had gone out. He must be on his lunch break.”  
Dean dropped his hand, “And he’s not answering his phone?”  
“No,” she shook her head.  
“That’s not like him,” Dean muttered.   
“I can get Jim to call me when he gets back in.”  
“Yeah, could you?” Dean asked, trying not to worry. He was the one in hospital _again_ , but it didn’t stop him worrying about his little brother. Nothing would.   
Riley nodded, texting, “Do you want me to call your uncle? Is he home?”  
“Yeah, he’s home… maybe, I dunno. Doc said I’ll be outta here in a few hours.”  
Riley raised her eyebrow.  
“What?”  
“You’re not gonna tell him?”  
Dean sighed, “Don’t start.”  
Riley held her hands up in surrender, “What about your girlfriend? Gonna tell her?”  
Dean just looked down, “She’s not my girlfriend.”  
Riley shrugged.  
Dean sighed.  
“This isn’t a big deal, Riles. Doc’s just running tests.”  
“You couldn’t _breathe_.”  
“I’m sorry, alright? Can we just drop it.”  
“Sure, Dean. Whatever you want,” Riley stood up, “I’m just gonna… take a walk.”  
While Riley was gone Dean actually worked up the courage to ask the nurse for some pain relief. After that he fell into a fitful doze, worrying about Sam and why in hell he wouldn’t answer his friggen phone.

…

"I can only be gone for half an hour, tops," Sam said, throwing his jacket on the bed.  
"Well, hello to you too, Sam," Ruby snarked, sitting up against the headboard, arms folded across her chest.   
Sam sat down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. He felt Ruby worm up behind him, her hands gliding over his shoulders.   
"What's wrong?"  
"We shouldn't be doing this," he breathed.   
Ruby swung herself around onto Sam's lap, straddling him, her lips close to his face.   
"Think about Dean, Sam. About what Lilith did to him. He's the way he is, because of her. You want someone to blame, you want someone to kill, you know where you need to point the trigger."  
Sam grabbed her shoulders roughly, pulling her away.   
Ruby smiled.   
"I can help you get her, Sam. I can help you get revenge."  
Sam tugged her towards him, kissing her violently, biting her bottom lip. His hand found its way up the back of her shirt and he felt her cold against him.   
He threw her down on the bed and climbed on top of her, eyes pleading.   
Ruby grabbed the knife from her boot and handed it to him, "Slice me anywhere you want."  
Sam shuddered, his body trembling with excitement. He pulled up her shirt and sliced the blade along her stomach, crouching down to suck the crimson liquid from her before it ran down onto the sheets.   
Ruby stroked Sam's hair, smiling, "That's it, Sam. It's gonna be okay."

... 

"Your liver enzyme count has gone up since the last test."  
Dean blinked at Dr Reid, not giving anything away.   
"Dean, have you stopped drinking?"  
Dean cleared his throat, "I had a, uh, setback."  
Reid nodded, "I've had the conversation once. I'm not going to repeat myself every time you stumble back through these doors. The ball is in your court, Dean. There is help if you need it, and you know what you need to do."  
Dean coughed, wincing and shifting in the bed, "Can I go?"   
The doc sighed, "Yeah, you can go. As long as you've got someone to drive you home."   
"Lucky I hung around," Riley said, appearing at the door.   
Reid turned, stepping towards her and lowering his voice, "Take him _straight_ home."   
Riley didn't move her eyes from the doctors until he stepped through the door and wandered back down the hall, away from Dean Winchester, shoulders sagging slightly.   
"You ready to get outta here?"   
Dean smothered a cough into his arm and clumsily tried to straighten himself in the bed, "Yeah."

...

Sam pulled his eyes open, heavy from sleep, not enough sleep. He lifted his arm up off Ruby's waist, their skin sticking together with perspiration. He furrowed his brow, taking in his surroundings, the battered, skeavy motel room walls. His eyes found the clock on the bedside table.   
"Son of a bitch!"   
"Sam?" Ruby asked, sleepily pushing herself up.   
"Why did you let me fall asleep?" He yelled at her, tugging his pants on.   
"Let you? Grow up, Winchester," she bit back, inspecting the wound on her abdomen, "Went a little deep this time."  
Sam threw her a look over his shoulder, pulling on a shirt, "What? Where's my phone?"  
"I dunno, your jacket?" She suggested, lying back down and stretching casually.   
"Dammit," he cursed, "I'm gonna lose my freaking job."  
"Who cares," she laughed.   
Sam directed a filthy look her way, reaching a hand into his jacket pocket to retrieve his phone.   
"What the - 8 missed calls?"   
"Thought I heard something."  
"Shut up," he said, calling his voicemail and putting the phone to his ear.   
_"Sam, pick up your damn phone. I'm taking Dean to the hospital."_  
"Oh my god."

…

Dean was still hungover. His back was clenching. The painkillers they’d pumped him full of were dulling the pain slightly, but each movement sent a stab through the fog and reminded him he was alive. His stomach was churning from the antibiotics and he really wanted to hurl again. His chest was uncomfortably tight and when he coughed every inch of him hurt, but all he seemed to want to do was cough… and wasn’t that just delightful.  
“You alright?” Riley asked, her previous bitterness having dissipated.   
Dean coughed involuntarily, trying not to cry, “Sam called yet?”  
Riley glanced at him but Dean avoided her eyes, “No, and Jim hasn’t seen him yet.”  
“Dammit,” he cursed, “I should’a called Bobby sooner. Sent him out after him… anything could’a happened.”  
“I’m sure he’s fine, Dean.”  
Dean shook his head. Riley didn’t get it. Riley didn’t understand. She didn’t know about monsters, and demons, and vampires, and ghouls, all of which knew very well about the Winchesters. All of which would be delighted to kill them any chance they got. It wasn’t like Sam to skip out on work and not answer his phone, especially while Dean was the way he was. It didn’t make sense.  
“Do you want your jacket on?” Riley asked, holding it out to him.   
“Dean Winchester?” the orderly arrived at the door, pushing a wheelchair in front of him.  
Dean looked from Riley to the orderly, “Oh, I’m not gettin’ in that.”

…

Due to hospital policy, Dean _did_ go out in a wheelchair. As soon as he saw the door though, he was clambering to his feet, leaning on Riley unapologetically. He heard the car before he even saw it approach. Thrumming through the parking lot up to the emergency set down. Sam was steering the impala towards him, making the tires squeal as he pulled up in front of the entrance. Dean scowled at the reckless way he was driving his baby.   
“You’re gonna bald the tires!” he chastised as Sam scrambled out of the car and raced around to his brother, wrapping his arms around him.  
“What the hell happened?” he asked, out of breath.  
“Dude, get off me,” Dean wriggled away, “Where were you? Riley called you like ten times.”  
Dean swayed and closed his eyes, steadying himself on his brother’s shoulder.   
“Come on, you need to sit down. You boys can argue later,” Riley said, her hand on the small of Dean’s back.  
“Dean, I’m sorry.”  
“Whatever,” Dean grumbled, climbing into the passenger seat, “Just take me home.”

…


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty One**

Riley helped get Dean into the passenger seat then turned sharply to Sam, “I’ll be talking to you later.”

“Riley, I –“

“Hey,” she stopped him, eyes wide, “You can justify why you skipped out on work and your brother later. Just take him home.”

Sam swallowed, clenching his jaw. He looked down, about to say something, when Riley cut him off.

“He was really worried about you.”

Sam didn’t say anything. He had nothing to say. He had no reasonable explanation as to why he’d left work for hours and not been contactable.

“I’ll call you later.”

Sam hadn’t even got himself together enough to say thank you. He just responded to Dean’s sharp tap on the window, telling him to hurry the heck up, and rounded the car to slide into the driver’s seat.

“Dean –“

“Sam,” Dean said, his gruff voice sounding weak, “Just drive.”

Sam didn’t speak again until he’d pulled out onto the road.

“Do you want to tell me what the hell happened?”

Dean stiffened, then huffed, “Funny, I was about to ask the same question.”

“Look, man. I’m sorry. I went on my lunch break and I… I fell asleep in the car.”

Dean looked at him, eyebrows raised, “You fell asleep?”

Sam sighed, “I didn’t mean to, alright? I just was resting my eyes and… I didn’t even hear the phone ringing.”

“You not getting enough sleep or something?” Dean asked, voice strained, breathing laboured.

Sam could tell Dean was pissed at him, stemming from the worry he’d held for his little brother his entire life. He knew it was a weak excuse, and it was a lie, all he could come up with on the drive over. But there was more in Dean’s question. He could sense the guilt pouring off his brother. Sam _hadn’t_ been getting enough sleep, because he was working almost constantly, staying up with Dean, helping him get through the day, driving him to appointments, sneaking out with Ruby to exorcise demons and drink her blood, training for when he inevitably left his brother to pursue Lilith. He could feel his own guilt creeping up his neck, flushing his skin. He’d never intended to do this but Ruby was right. Lilith had done this to Dean, all of it. And he needed to make it right. He needed to get revenge. He needed Lilith’s head on a plate.

“Light’s red!” Dean practically shouted.

Sam slammed on the breaks, the heavy car fishtailing slightly. Dean was thrown forward a little, one hand on the dashboard, bracing him back in the seat.   
“Ah! Son of a…”

“You alright, Dean? God, I’m sorry.”

Dean tipped his head back, eyes closed. He was breathing carefully, controlled, lips tight.

“Dean?”

Dean held up a hand, telling him _stop, give me a minute, I can’t answer right now_.

The light turned green and Sam eased the car back in motion, glancing sidelong at his brother, whose breaths were quickening exponentially.

“Dean?”

Dean’s hands were in tight fists now, one still pressing into the dashboard.

“You gotta calm down, man.”

Dean’s body was rigid. He was in a lot of pain, _a lot,_ and he was having a panic attack because of it.

“Why don’t you… learn to… drive?”

Sam laughed despite himself and reached one hand out to his brother’s shoulder. Dean still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“Relax.”

Dean’s breathing wasn’t slowing, it set him off coughing and he curled forward, head on the dash this time.

“Relax those muscles, dude,” Sam’s hand ghosted up and down his hunched back, feeling the dampness and tension, “Slow it down.”

“Hurts…”

“I know, but you’re freaking out. Just relax a little, it’s okay.”

Dean sighed, but slowly Sam felt at least some of the tension drain out of him.

“They give you painkillers in there?”

Dean nodded almost unperceivably, “Wearing off.”

“Okay, we’ll have some more when we get home.”

Another nod.

“You gonna lean back?”

Dean tensed a little again, “No.”

“Okay…”

“Just… watch the road.”

Sam swallowed, tensing his jaw, his lips tightening. He was trying to do the right thing, but he just kept making everything worse.

When they got home Dean uncurled from his position against the dash and hoisted himself out of the car on his own. Sam made it round to his side but he brushed him off, staggering ahead without his crutches until he found the handrail to climb the stairs to the porch.

Dean waited until Sam unlocked the front door and then pushed through first, heading into the kitchen.

Bobby was sitting at the table and looked quizzically between the two boys, the tension so tangible it could be cut with a knife.

“Boys,” he said in a way of greeting, “Somethin’ I missed?”

“I just picked Dean up from the hospital,” Sam explained simply.

Bobby kept his expression fairly blank, although it was clear it was a surprise to him.

“I’m fine,” Dean grunted, rummaging in the kitchen draw for his pills, “Sleeping beauty here on the other hand…”

Sam sighed.

“What’s going on with you two?” Bobby asked, standing.

Sam was still standing by the front door, like a deer caught in the headlights, “It’s nothing, I, uh –“

“He fell asleep, missed work, and wouldn’t answer his phone. That’s not nothing!”

“Dean, calm down,” Sam said softly, avoiding Bobby’s shocked glare.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Dean tried shaking some pills out on his hand, ended up upending the bottle, pills scattering everywhere. He tried to bend, dropped the bottle and leaned back against the wall, legs shaking beneath him.

Bobby was across the room faster than Sam was, getting Dean’s arm over his shoulders, “Take it easy, boy.”

“I need two,” Dean slammed his eyes shut, looking queasy.

Sam stood on, feeling helpless.

“Sam, grab me some pills, would ya?” Bobby ordered.

Sam stooped to the kitchen floor, grabbing a couple of pills and handing them to his trembling brother. Dean tipped them into his mouth and swallowed them dry, grimacing.

“Why don’t we get you horizontal?” Bobby suggested.

Dean was tight, unmoving. Sam could tell whatever he’d done to his back had seized him up where he was standing, barely under his own power. Sam was hit with another pang of guilt at knowing his careless driving had caused at least some of it.

“Hang on,” Dean grinded out through clenched teeth.

“Can’t stand here all day,” Bobby muttered, adjusting his hold on Dean.

The movement, however subtle, made Dean’s hand grip into Bobby’s shoulder tightly and he sucked in a short sharp breath.

“Easy, boy.”

Sam watched Dean weaken and it looked like he was about to hurl.

“And we’re walking,” Bobby ordered, pulling Dean with him gently. He knew what would inevitably happen if they continued to stand.

Sam saw them struggling and went to Dean’s left side, getting under his arm. It must have been the height difference, the fact that Sam was a few inches taller, and that Dean had had shoulder surgery only a few months ago, but again, in trying to do the right thing, Sam had made it worse.

“ _Shoulder! Shoulder!”_ Dean hissed, pressing more weight into Bobby, trying to escape his brother.

“God, sorry…”

For a moment Sam felt like a little kid. The way Dean and Bobby had snapped at him reminded him of their dad, and life on the road before he’d left for Stanford. Before his desire to leave his family had overtaken him, he’d just wanted to do everything he could to make his dad proud. Dean was constantly proud of him, he knew that… dad was a different story. Everything with dad he felt like he had to earn, whereas Dean gave it to him freely. Right now though, Dean had never reminded him more of their father.

It only took a moment for Sam to check himself and get into brother mode. He got ahead of Dean and Bobby, which wasn’t hard, and pulled back the covers on Dean’s bed, plugging in and turning on the heat pad.

Bobby sat Dean down on the edge of the bed.

“Here, lie back, man,” Sam offered.

“I need, uh,” Dean panted, “I can’t be less than 45 degrees,” he indicated with his hand, gesturing to the pillows.

Sam and Bobby shared a glance, “Why not?” Sam asked first.

“I got, uh,” he made a swirling motion around his chest.

Bobby straightened, “Dean, why don’t you tell us why you were at the hospital?”

Dean cleared his throat, “Pleural effusion.”

“What the heck is that?” Sam asked.

“I dunno, Sam. Google it,” Dean moaned, “Basically my lungs hate me.”

“Well is it bad?”

“It can be but it’s not,” Dean snapped.

“Well,” Sam tried to wrap his head around it, and why his brother was being so blasé about the whole thing, “What do we have to do? Could it get worse?”

Dean pulled a pill bottle out of his pocket, “Well, it could but, look, I got more pills. So, we can add that to the two thousand other ones I’m taking.”

Dean paled, other hand gripping the mattress as the task of sitting on the edge of his bed began to wear on him, the brief conversation leaving him out of breath.

“Alright, well, we’ll add it to the list,” Bobby said, stooping to grab Dean’s legs and help him get them up on the bed, “Meanwhile, you need to lie down before you pass out.”

Dean swallowed, and Sam noted that his lips were losing colour too. Bobby wasn’t far wrong.

Sam had stacked the pillows up so Dean wasn’t less than 45 degrees as he’d said. He was going to take Dean up on his offer and Google it though.

It took both Sam and Bobby to help Dean shuffle back onto the bed. Dean gripped their arms and arced his back up in pain.

“ _God,_ ” he winced through clenched teeth.

“It’s alright. We got ya,” Sam muttered, as they finally got Dean semi-comfortable against the pillows.

Bobby looked at Sam pointedly, “I’m gonna give you boys a minute,” he said, before leaving the room and pulling the door half shut behind himself.

“Sam, I’m tired.”

Dean had already shut him out before he’d even begun.

“I get it, dude… Are you really doing okay?”

Dean smiled, rubbed a hand across his chest, “I’m… doing the best I can, man.”

“I’m sorry for –“

“Forget it, dude,” Dean breathed, eyes closed and looking thoroughly out of steam. Too exhausted to fight.

Sam wanted to say something like, _we’re in this together, Dean,_ or, _we’ll get through it, I’m here for you._ Some chick-flick bullshit that Dean probably wouldn’t appreciate. So in the end he said nothing. Sam sighed, about to stand up when Dean’s eyes opened.

“Hey, um…” Dean glanced away, like he was embarrassed, “Can you get me something, you know, to help me sleep?”

Sam kept his expression carefully blank, not giving away how surprised he was by the request.

“Sure, man.”

 

…

 

Dean woke to his phone ringing on the bedside table. It was his familiar rock riff, along with the intrusive rumbling of the vibration against a wooden surface. His body came awake sluggishly, and it was a long ten or so seconds before he could reach out a hand to grab his phone.

“Hello?” His voice was deep, grumbling low in his chest, causing him a stab of pain.

_“Dean! It’s Katie. Is this a bad time?”_

Dean rubbed a hand over his forehead, closing his eyes again and swallowing.

“No... Sorry, I was sleeping.”

_“Oh, I’m sorry to wake you up. You can go back to sleep. I’ll talk to you later.”_

“Katie, wait,” Dean panted, “You don’t have to go.”

She sighed, breathy and sweet, _“How are you?”_

Dean swallowed again, mouth dry, “I’m doing okay. How’re you?”

 _“I’m fine,”_ she paused, _“Dean… I know you weren’t in the best way after our date… I feel like I pushed too hard. I just wanted to apologise.”_

Dean’s breath quickened and he had to stifle a painful cough. She hadn’t pushed all that hard. He wouldn’t put that on her. A light breeze was all it took these days to set him off. It may have been her questions yesterday that caused him to get a taxi to the nearest open bar, or it may have just been the fact that he was on his own for once, his brother not breathing down his neck. He’d wanted a drink ever since he’d been told he couldn’t have one. Even before that. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he hadn’t wanted a drink. And since he pulled his body through the dirt, out of his grave, the desire had been crippling.

_“Dean, you okay?”_

“Yeah –“ Dean struggled to control his disobedient lungs, “It’s not your fault. You don’t have to apologise.”

_“No, I… I realize there’re things you can’t talk about, things you don’t want to talk about, and I don’t hold it against you. I just wanted to understand.”_

“I know,” Dean grumbled, anxiety creeping up his chest.

 _“I hoped you’d maybe want to, hang out again?”_ She asked, uncertainly, _“I don’t have anything on tomorrow and my parents are in Florida for the weekend. You could come over in the morning and I could cook you pancakes for breakfast.”_

There was so much joy and hope in her voice that Dean couldn't possibly say no, especially when pancakes were involved.

“With bacon?” he asked.

She laughed, _“With bacon.”_

“Then I’m in.”

 

…

 

Sam was sitting at the breakfast bar, clicking away through WebMD on his computer, listening to Bobby do laundry. When he looked up from his computer the gruff, older hunter was standing in front of him with a stern expression. He stared at him before placing a motel room key down on the counter in front of him.

“Found that in your jeans pocket.”

Sam’s eyes widened, “Bobby, I –“

“You and I need to have a talk, son.”

 

…


	22. Chapter 22

Sam gulped, trying to think of a way out of this. He had nothing. He had no excuse at all.

“Sam,” Bobby said, lowering his voice, “if you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing, I want you to get out quick. You hear me?”

Sam nodded, lips in a tight line.

“You know you can come to me for help, right?”

“Of course,” Sam said.

“You hunting?”

Sam stopped at that question. Was he hunting? Yes. Conventionally? No. Was he doing it alone? Also no. But he figured Bobby wouldn’t be happy knowing the truth either.

He paused for too long, Bobby could see right through him.

“Sam… Dean told me about Ruby. About you using your psychic thing. Now, I know you’ve been hole up here for months now, so I thought we didn’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Sam sighed.

“Yes, I do. I always will, Sam.”

Sam felt warm at hearing the words.

“You didn’t “fall asleep in the car” today, did you?”

Sam looked down, answering the question without saying anything at all.

Sam could see Bobby shake his head in his periphery.

“Don’t you get it?” Bobby whispered intensely, “I’m trying to get you boys _out._ Don’t do something stupid and get yourself pulled back in.”

“Bobby…”

“I’ve said my bit, Sam. What you do next is your call.”

 

…

 

Dean woke up needing desperately to take a piss. He was still groggy from the meds but he managed to get himself up without falling flat on his face, and he considered that a win. He made it to his bathroom using the walls for support, cringing as his back tightened with each movement. He hung onto the rail next to the toilet as he took care of business. It had been Sam (and the doctor’s) idea to install handrails in the bathroom after his spinal surgery, and as much as Dean had hated the idea, it’d been a saving grace multiple times since then. He still didn’t like it. Because it was a disability bathroom now. And that implied he was disabled.

He washed his hands and splashed some water on his face, spilling it all down his front as he couldn't bend over the sink. His shoulder ached. He still had a splitting headache, courtesy of too much whiskey the night before. He wished he’d stashed a bottle somewhere. One nip now would make his headache back off at least. He couldn’t even think about his back right now. When Sam had hit the brakes suddenly, Dean’d been jolted. Just a little. But it was enough. Too much. It seemed like even just walking was too much of a jolt, each step rattling his bones. He felt it like a shockwave, every time his feet hit the ground. He was still breathing carefully too, shoulders curling in to make it easier. The deeper he breathed, the more it hurt.

_“You have to take deep breaths, Dean. I know it’s going to be painful, but your pneumonia is only going to get worse if you don’t use your lungs properly.”_

He coughed, and had to press the heel of his hand against his forehead. It felt like his brain was rattling around inside his head.

He managed to get back to bed on his own without alerting the whole household. It was still daylight. Late afternoon. But he went to sleep anyway.

 

…

 

Sam and Bobby had pretended like nothing happened and were back to civil, normal conversation. Bobby was in the kitchen, frying up some sausages, and Sam was sitting on the couch, computer on his lap and the news on in the background.

“Bobby, you looked up this pleural effusion thing?”

Bobby turned from the stove, “I was leaving the research up to you.”

Sam pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. Bobby smirked.

“What is it, son?”

“It doesn’t sound very good.”

“Well, I couldn’t imagine it is.”

“I’m serious. This says they usually have to drain the fluid by inserting a tube in between the ribs.”

Bobby grimaced, “Ouch.”

“It can cause all sorts of complications, collapsed lungs, medial shift…”

“Sam,” Bobby stopped him.

“Yeah?”

“Dean went to the hospital. He’s been checked, all right? We just gotta keep an eye on him, that’s all. Make sure he takes that medication.”

Sam sighed, “Yeah…”

“Maybe you should stop googling everything that’s wrong with your brother and just go and talk to him.”

“He won’t talk to me, Bobby. He won’t talk to anyone, that’s what I’m worried about.”

Bobby turned the sausages in the pan.

“Maybe I should take him somewhere.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow, “What are you on about?”

“Dean hates being in the one place for too long… maybe we should, I dunno, take a trip.”

Bobby pushed his hat back and scratched his head, “Sam, I dunno if he’s up for going anywhere just yet. Can he sit in the car for longer than 20 minutes?”

“He can lie down in the back.”

“It’s a nice thought, son, but I think he needs a bit more time.”

Sam sighed again and closed his laptop, moving it to the coffee table.

“When’s this going to start getting better, Bobby?”

 

…

 

Dean woke again at after eight in the evening. He could smell something amazing. His stomach roared and he realized he was so incredibly hungry. He pushed himself up to sit on the edge of his bed and ran a hand through his hair. He coughed, loud and thick. He took a moment to take several painfully deep breaths, pressing a hand against his chest. When he was quite satisfied that he could stand up without passing out, he pushed off his mattress and caught himself on the wall, slowly straightening.

He stopped by the bathroom to take another piss. The new pills he was on were going to make that a common and annoying need.

By the time he had lumbered down the hall he could feel the sweat on his forehead and his body shaking from exhaustion. His self-loathing kicked it up a notch and he wasn’t quite sure how he could hate himself any more at this point.

When he passed through into the open kitchen/living room area and saw Sam and Bobby sitting there, Bobby in the armchair, book in hand, Sam stretched across the lounge watching TV, and two clean plates with knives and forks haphazardly thrown on top of them sitting on the coffee table, he was filled with more despair than he’d care to mention.

“You saved some for me, right?”

Sam and Bobby were already looking at him, not surprised by his presence. He didn’t exactly have ninja stealth these days.

“Course I did, boy,” Bobby snorted, and Dean felt overwhelming relief.

Bobby was already up and heading for the kitchen before Dean could move again.

“Come sit down, man,” Sam said, immediately followed by, “How you feeling?”

Dean coughed into his elbow as he shuffled over, “I’ll live… I think,” he smirked. “What’s for dinner? It smells good.”

Sam moved his legs so Dean could sit down.

“Sausages, mashed potato and gravy,” Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean.

Dean’s eyes widened in approval.

“I know, dude.”

“Don’t skimp out on the gravy,” Dean called to Bobby.

Bobby snorted in the kitchen, “Since when have I ever skimped out on gravy?”

“Once,” Dean said, straight faced, “And I’ll never forget it.”

Bobby crossed the room with the steaming plate, handing it to Dean, “Idjit.”

 

…

 

“You gonna be here in the morning?”

Dean had been pretty quiet that evening so it took Sam a little by surprise when he opened his mouth. Bobby had gone to bed and it had just been the two of them for the past half hour, watching an old black and white movie on TV.

Sam looked at his brother, who was still looking at him, waiting for an answer.

“Uh, I leave for work at 9:30.”

Dean’s expression didn’t change, “Can you give me a ride?”

Sam furrowed his brow, “Give you a ride where?”

“Katie’s.”

Sam’s eyebrows went right up, “Katie’s?”

Dean shrugged, “Yeah. What?”

“You just spent the night at Riley’s.”

Dean rolled his eyes and looked back at the TV, “Well, if you’re going to be a dick about it, forget it.”

“No, Dean, come on.”

“Her parents are out of town. She’s making me breakfast.”

Sam paused, “… awww.”

“Shut up.”

Sam laughed.

“Whatever. It’s my car anyway, I want it back.”

“Dean, I’ll drive you, all right?”

Dean smiled, although it looked like he was trying not to.

“You know, you tried the whole dating two girls at the same time thing in high school. If I remember correctly, it didn’t work out for you,” Sam smirked.

Dean glared at him, “That’s not gonna happen, because I’m not dating either of them.”

“Really?” Sam raised an eyebrow, “’Cause I think you’re dating both of them.”

Dean looked back at the TV and folded his arms across his chest, “Whatever.”

Sam sighed a little but tried not to be annoyed. He was the one that had pried in the first place.

Dean coughed and leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees. He looked pale and groaned when he’d finished.

“Jesus,” he gasped, pressing a hand to his chest.

Sam clicked his tongue a few times, thinking, “I googled it.”

Dean did a double take, rubbing his hand down his face, “Googled what?”

“Pleural effusion.”

Dean gritted his teeth, took a slow breath and finally leaned back in his seat.

“And?”

“How bad is it?”

Dean shook his head. He looked tired.

“It’s not too bad, Sammy. I didn’t bust out or anything… the doc let me go.”

“So -”

“So, it’s gonna be fine.”

Sam nodded.

“How’re your ribs feeling? You doing okay at work?”

Sam smiled a little, “I’m okay, Dean.”

“You don’t have to work there if you don’t want to.”

Sam looked over at his brother but he wasn’t looking at him.

“What?”

Dean cleared his throat, “I don’t want you working too hard, Sammy. I know… I know I’m a lot to deal with right now but… you don’t have to do it for me. We can find another way.”

Sam almost laughed, “Dean… it’s a bar job, it’s not rocket science.”

“But it’s not just that,” Dean sounded exasperated, “It’s a lot, and it’s me and my shit you have to deal with too. And you’re not 100% yet, I can see that.”

“Dean… is this about today?”

“I’m worried about you, Sam.”

Sam looked down, feeling a lump in his throat.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

Dean rolled his head on the back of the couch to look at Sam, brow drawn in. It was obvious. Dean was always going to worry.

“Do you miss it?” Sam asked, feeling Dean’s eyes on him.

“Miss what?”

“Hunting.”

Sam looked up, just to see Dean swallow. He paled.

Dean looked back at the TV, his jaw working. Eventually he put his hands either side of him and pressed up off the couch to his feet.

“G’night, Sammy.”

Sam nodded, tongue tracing the line of his teeth. He should have known that would make Dean shut down.

“Are you alright to get to bed? Do you need something?”

Dean smiled, “No, Sammy, I’m good.”

Sam nodded, and watched the back of his brother disappear down the hallway.

 

…

 

Dean woke up at 3am, literally covered from head to toe in sweat. It was rolling off him. His pillow soaked under his head, sheets damp around him, feeling heavy, pushing him down. He was panting hard, images from the dream still flashing through his head. He had to pull the sheets off him, just to make sure his chest wasn’t in ribbons, blood spilling out of him. He put a hand on his chest and closed his eyes, feeling the hellhounds claw into him, ripping the flesh from his bones. He clamped a hand over his mouth, trying not to yell or sob, let out any sound that might wake Sam or Bobby. They’d seen him pretty bad the last few months but he didn’t want them to see him like this. After a few calming breaths he began to relax, heart beat slowing beneath his hand. He wasn’t in danger right now.

_You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay._

“Dammit,” he whispered, noticing how wet everything was around him.

He shivered. The sheets were cold and damp.

“Shit.”

He gasped as he pushed himself up, back clenching. He winced as searing pain rippled through him.

Slowly, quietly, carefully, he pulled the sheets off his bed. He pressed a hand to his mattress. It was a little damp but the majority of the moisture was in the sheets. He tucked his wet sheets and pillowcases under his arm and shuffled down the hallway in the dark, other hand feeling his way along the wall.

He got to the laundry and flicked the light on, depositing his soaked linen in the washing machine. He realized, looking down at the machine, that he had no idea how it worked. He found some detergent in the overhead cupboard and tipped some of that in, pressed a few buttons and hoped for the best.

“Dean?”

Dean jumped, hand going to his chest, “Jesus.”

Bobby was standing in the doorway, eyes squinting against the light.

“You alright?”

Dean braced himself against the laundry bench, “Yeah, I, uh…”

Bobby furrowed his brow, “Weird time to be doing laundry.”

Dean cleared his throat, “My sheets were wet.”

Bobby opened his eyes a little more and took in Dean’s appearance. He softened.

“Come on, son. You have a quick shower and rinse off. I’ll get some clean sheets.”

Dean sighed. He felt like a little kid, but, _man,_ it felt good to be taken care of.

“Okay.”

Bobby patted him gently on the back as he walked past and followed him back to his room.

 

…


	23. Chapter 23

The shower was nice. The warm water seemed to relax everything and he was able to wash away the salty sweat from his skin. He even ran some shampoo through his hair.

He turned the water off and used the rails to get out of the shower chair, the shower chair he would one day take a baseball bat to.

_Scratch, scratch._

Dean looked at the bathroom door, brow furrowed.

Nothing happened for a minute so he looked back to the mirror, rubbing the towel over his head.

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._

His heart rate ratcheted up and he spun around to look at the door again.

"Bobby?" He called softly.

He stared at the door.

_Bang!_

Dean saw the door bending in under force. There was more scratching again, but louder, more fiercely, like it was gouging lines down the wood. Howling filled the night, followed by rabid barks against the door. They were coming for him again.

Dean backed up against the wall, hands gripped over his ears, but he could hear it just as loud anyway. Like the sound was coming from inside.

_Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, howl._

Dean felt tears fall down his cheeks, chest on fire with his rapid breathing.

_Not again. Oh, please, God, not again._

Dean sunk back further against the wall, heart pounding, so terrified.

_Knock, knock._

"Dean?"

Dean opened his eyes and drew his hands away from his ears, looking back at the door.

"You okay in there?"

Dean looked around, listening. There was nothing. No scratching. No howling. No hellhounds.

"Yeah," he managed to say, trying to keep his voice steady.

_Just a nightmare._

Dean wrapped the towel around his waist, fingers still trembling.

_Just a nightmare, while you're awake._

"I got some clean clothes for ya," Bobby said through the door.

Dean sighed, trying to stop tears that were still pouring from his eyes. A steady leak. Wasting fluids. But he couldn't really stop.

He was shivering now because it was cold tonight, and while the shower had been warm, now he was freezing.

Eventually Dean straightened, cautiously opening the door, glancing at the other side of it, expecting to see claw marks. It was fine.

“Dean,” Bobby said.

Dean looked up. Water was still dripping from him. He was sure his eyes were red, dewy with tears. His chest was heaving in and out, and his heart was pounding so hard it probably could be seen beating against his ribs.

“What’s wrong, boy?” Bobby’s face was crinkled with concern, and a little panic, a testament to how terrible he must have looked.

Dean cleared his throat, dragging his wrist across his brow, “I, uh… it’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Bobby said, holding out his clothes to him.

Dean managed a tiny smile, trying to offer comfort in any form.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just got scared, that’s all,” Dean took the clothes.

Bobby nodded, but looked stern.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he grunted, leaving the room and pulling the door closed.

“Leave it, Bobby,” Dean breathed, “Leave the door open.”

Bobby furrowed his brow, but nodded in understanding, and wandered down the hall.

Dean sat heavily on the edge of the bed, clothes at his side and face in his hands. He should have told Bobby what had happened, what he’d heard. It was getting worse. The nightmares only stopped if he’d drunk enough to pass out or taken enough pills to kill a horse. But it was hard. Dean had never spoken about these things. About the hard things. He’d learned, taught himself, to bottle everything up. Never show weakness. Never show fear.

_“I just got scared, that's all.”_

That had been too much to reveal. Too out of character. Too vulnerable. But there was only so much he could shoulder alone, before he broke under the weight. Who was he kidding? He was already broken. Held together with duck tape and rubber bands. Even if the pain was gone. Even if his back was healed, lungs healed, shoulder healed, his mind, his _soul_ was damaged. Beyond repair. He’d seen too much. And no matter what, that would always have happened to him. He would have always gone to hell. He would have always been tortured. He would have always tortured others. He couldn’t change it. He couldn’t forget it. He couldn’t forgive it.

“Dean, you should get dressed,” Bobby was standing in the doorway.

Dean looked up, startled. Maybe more time had passed than he’d realized.

“’Kay,” he mumbled.

He’d struggled into his boxers and was having difficulty pulling his t-shirt over his head when Bobby came back in, silently helping his weak left arm find the hole.

“Come on.”

Bobby helped him into bed and then sat down in the chair in Dean’s room.

“Bobby?” Dean asked.

“I’m not going anywhere, kid.”

Dean let out a breath and nodded.

Dean lay there with his eyes closed and listened to Bobby breathe. He probably lay awake for close to an hour before he heard the soft snores to signify Bobby had fallen asleep. He opened his eyes and looked across the room in the dark. He still hadn’t exactly calmed down. He was still scared to death. And Bobby was always great to have around… but sometimes he just needed his brother.

 

…

 

Sam took a deep breath in and sleepily pulled his eyes open. He hadn’t been sure what had woken him until he turned his head to the right and saw Dean on the bed next to him. He was lying back on some pillows, on top of the covers, arms folded across his chest, staring down at him.

“Hey, man,” Sam mumbled, crinkling his brow.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean croaked.

“You okay?” He brought a hand up to rub his eye.

Dean smiled, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Sam nodded against his pillow, eyes already drooping again.

“I’m okay,” Dean said again, although this time it looked like he was trying to convince himself, not Sam.

Sam smiled, and went back to sleep.

 

…

 

When Sam woke the next morning he had a vague memory of waking up to find Dean next to him. Looking over, if his brother had been there earlier, he was not there now.

He went out into the kitchen and found his brother sitting at the breakfast bar, coffee mug in hand.

“Mornin’,” he muttered, heading to the pot to grab a cup himself.

“Morning,” Dean’s voice was low and rough.

Sam looked over at him, “You alright?”

Dean closed his eyes and nodded. He looked far from alright.

Sam decided not to mention the previous night. Dean had obviously needed him. Dean didn’t like to be vulnerable. He wouldn’t call him out on it.

“What time do you need me to take you?” Sam asked, casually.

Dean cleared his throat, “Just whenever you’re on your way out.”

“Do you need to take anything? You know what pills you have to take?”

“I got it,” Dean said, pulling the list out of his pocket.

It was crumpled now, and had different medications added on in different colour pens. The list of all his medications and the times he needed to take them, and then underneath that the list of pills he could take as needed and the amount he could have in a day. There were quite a few on there now.

Sam sipped his coffee.

“I gotta take a shower. Whereabouts does Katie live?”

Dean rubbed his fingers across his forehead, “It’s not far.”

“Okay… you eat?”

Dean cleared his throat, “I had some toast.”

Sam thought for a moment that his brother might be lying. But he knew how sick the pills made him if he took them on an empty stomach. And he knew Dean wouldn’t be sitting there, fairly upright and stable, if he hadn’t taken them already.

“Alright. I’m gonna take a shower.”

Dean nodded and Sam left him to it, taking his coffee mug with him. Dean was always hard to talk to in the mornings. Shut down from his nightmares. Sore from lying in the one position too long. It always took Dean a while to wake up, even before all this started. So, he didn’t hold anything against him. He just felt sorry for this poor girl. She was going to have her work cut out for her.

 

…

 

Sam stopped the car out the front of Katie’s house and looked towards the front door.

“You gonna be okay?”

Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother and slapped on a smirk, “I’ll be just fine, Sammy.”

Sam smiled back, “Alright, well call me or Bobby when you wanna get picked up and we’ll come get ya.”

“Thanks, _mum_.”

“Shut up.”

Dean got out of the car and walked towards the front door. He turned to find Sam still watching him through the window of the impala.

Dean pointed down the road and mouthed ‘ _go_ ’. He turned back around and heard the impala purr down the street.

Katie had a screen door and a wooden door at the front of the house. The screen was closed but the wooden door was open, and Dean could see inside, hear the sounds of sizzling bacon, smell the pancakes, hear Katie humming sweetly.

He knocked, before opening the door himself.

Katie was coming through as he entered.

“Hey, you,” she smiled.

“Hey, yourself,” Dean put an arm around her waist as she kissed him on the cheek, “Something smells great.”

…

Maybe it was the fact that Dean hadn’t had something like that in a while. Maybe it was the fact he usually felt too sick to want to eat, or had just lost enjoyment in everything these days. But warm pancakes with ice cream, whipped cream, maple syrup, and bacon was the most incredible thing Dean had experienced in a long while. It was better than any diner short stack he’d ever ordered.

There was something, though, that made Dean feel a little awkward. Katie was a lovely girl. She was kind and sweet. Kind of ‘girl next door’ type. He liked her. He did. She was a very pretty girl too. It wasn’t hard to like her. But somehow, unsurprisingly, he didn’t belong. And it wasn’t just her. It was her nice house, and her nice parents, and her parent’s nice car. It was the family photos on the mantel, and the recipe books on display in the kitchen, the coats hanging by the door. It was the pancakes. The smell, the taste, the texture. It was all too good. Too good for Dean Winchester.

They’d finished eating and were sitting on the lounge. The too comfortable lounge with too many pillows. And they were talking, and she kept looking at him with her too blue eyes, and her glowing face with a few scattered freckles, and her soft bouncy hair with the gingerish hue. It would be different if it was just sex. Dean could do just sex. In fact Dean _loved_ just sex. Because it was fun, and it didn’t mean he had to feel anything.

“What’s going on in your head?” Katie hummed, nudging him gently.

Dean took a breath and tried to use that to ground himself. The conversation had tapered off. It had mostly been one sided, as it always was with her. But he liked to listen because it made him forget about how screwed up he was.

“Nothing,” he lied, feeling bad for not giving her more than that.

He shifted in his seat. The painkillers were wearing off and the pain was starting to creep back up. And that negative voice was back in his head again.

_You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve her._

And it was all he could do not to get up and run.

Katie’s phone buzzed against the coffee table. She leaned forward and picked it up.

“Sorry,” she breathed, embarrassed, “It’s my dad.”

Dean straightened a little bit, “Oh, that’s okay.”

“I’ll be right back,” she said softly and answered the phone, pressing it to her ear and walking into the hall, “Hey dad.”

Dean shifted, listening to Katie talk.

“Yeah, I’m okay. We’re… both okay… Yes, I know. Of course, dad. Don’t worry, I’m fine. How’s Florida?”

Dean turned his attention to the bookcase.

“Okay. Love you both. See you soon.”

Katie walked back in, and her face flushed a little, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Dean smiled, then nodded his head towards the bookcase, “Whose text books are those?”

“Oh,” Katie turned to look, and then faced Dean, “They’re mine. I, uh, I took a year off when umm…” she trailed off.

“You were studying psychology?”

Katie nodded, no sense of panic, guilt, or deception in her gaze and yet Dean felt all three.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was all that important,” she said casually.

Dean looked down, penny dropping, and muttered, “That’s why you’re so interested in me.”

“What?” she leaned closer.

“Is that why you’re so interested in me?” Dean asked louder, unable to school his expression.

“No, Dean, of course not.”

“You just pick the most screwed up guy you can find to practice, right?”

“Dean, that’s not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?” Dean gazed straight at her, “You trying to fix me, Kate? Huh?”

She stuttered, “Y-You’re my friend. I want to help you.”

Dean stood up, “You know, I should have figured this out. I kept thinking to myself ‘why would someone like her be interesting in someone like me’. I guess I have my answer.”

Dean walked to the door, grabbing his coat off the hook, thankful he’d decided to keep his boots on.

“Dean, don't go. You’ve got it all wrong. It’s not like that.”

“Thanks for breakfast,” Dean uttered, and left.

 

…

 

Dean had walked to the end of Katie’s street and was pulling his phone from his pocket. Luckily, it wasn’t far to turn the corner and be far enough away from the house. Still, he was panting, and that only pulled on his chest. He dialed Bobby’s number and sat down on someone’s brick letterbox.

_“Hello.”_

“I need you to pick me up. Now.”

Bobby paused, _“… Okay. Where you at? What’s the address?”_

Dean looked up, trying to see a street sign. Maybe he should have called a taxi instead, and got it to take him to the nearest bar. He felt like he needed a drink now more than ever.

_“Son? You there?”_

“Yeah, I’m here,” Dean rubbed his head, “I can’t…”

_“You can’t what? Do you know where you are?”_

“Hang on,” Dean breathed, feeling suddenly nauseous, “I’m dizzy…”

_“Stay with me, boy. Breathe.”_

“Crap,” Dean was looking down at the ground and the world started dancing in front of his eyes. He closed them but that made it worse. If he wasn’t careful he’d fall off this damn thing.

 _“What’s going on, Dean? You alright?”_ Dean could hear Bobby’s car start up, even though he didn’t know where he was going yet.

“I’m really freakin’ dizzy.”

_“I need to know where you are.”_

“I was at Katie’s… round the corner. I walked.”

_“Why in god’s name are you – never mind. What’s Katie’s address? I’ll find you.”_

“16… Birchwood Drive.”

_“Alright, I’m on my way. How you doing?”_

“Feel like I’m gonna puke.”

_“Well, as long as you don’t pass out, I’m happy.”_

…

 

Dean stayed on the phone to Bobby until he heard the car coming and walked down to the street corner.

_“I see ya.”_

Dean hung up and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

He climbed into the passenger seat, without looking at Bobby.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“No problem,” Bobby huffed, “Seatbelt.”

Dean rolled his eyes and put on his seatbelt.

“Wanna tell me what the hell happened?”

Dean’s phone started ringing and he pulled it out and silenced Katie’s incoming call.

“Not really.”

 

…


	24. Chapter 24

Dean needed a bottle. He needed a bottle right now. His hands were shaking, mouth watering. He wanted to throw up. God, how could he be so stupid?

"Son?" Bobby tapped on the door, "Why don't you come out and talk about things?"

Dean wiped the sweat off his brow.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

He couldn't answer Bobby, couldn't move to let him in, because all his energy had to work to get him to the bathroom.

He leaned over the toilet and threw up the breakfast that had once tasted so good. Now it was bitter, sour, sitting like a lump in his stomach and it had to come out.

He coughed hard, his knees giving out as he slumped against the wall.

Bobby took that as his cue to enter.

"What in hell happened, kid?" Bobby asked, staring down at him.

 

...

 

Dean still refused to talk about it. Mostly because he was afraid of saying it out loud and hearing how ridiculous the whole thing had been. So she was studying psychology. So what? It didn't mean anything. It didn't mean she'd chosen to hang out with him because of it. And maybe he was just looking for something. Waiting for something to go wrong. Looking for a reason to run.

**_Dean, I don't want to talk to you through text but if you won't pick up the phone then I'll have to. I just want to talk to you._ **

But Dean didn’t want to talk to her. Not right now anyway. And probably not anytime soon. He remembered telling her the reason he’d like her so much.

_“You make me forget about all that…”_

Now he couldn’t. Now he wouldn’t ever forget about “all that”. All the things that made him screwed up, all the things he’d been through. Because he’d always be thinking that maybe she wanted to know _all that,_ maybe she’d try to analyze _all that,_ maybe she’d try to fix _all that._ Dean couldn’t be fixed. More importantly he didn’t _need_ to be fixed. He didn’t need anyone’s pity, least of all hers.

“Hey, you ready to eat some lunch?” Bobby asked, sticking his head into Dean’s room.

Dean had been hiding out since he got back. Right now he was laid up in bed, trying in vain to get some sleep he desperately needed. But he couldn’t when his brain wouldn’t quit. Wouldn’t shut up for 5 seconds.

“I’m not that hungry,” he croaked.

“Well, I don’t really care if you’re hungry or not,” Bobby said casually, “Because I’m making you lunch and you’re gonna eat it.”

Dean smiled, “’Kay. Understood.”

“Besides I think you’ve got some pills you gotta take right about now,” Bobby looked at his watch.

Dean nodded, coughing into his fist. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt a jab of pain under his ribs. Just then his phone started ringing again, as it had been incessantly since he’d left Katie’s.

“Here,” Bobby extended his hand, reaching for the phone as Dean continued to choke.

Dean eyed Bobby but handed it to him anyway.

Bobby answered the phone and pressed it to his ear, “Listen, Dean’s resting right now. He’ll call you when he _wants_ to talk to you and no sooner, you got that?”

Dean finally took an uninterrupted breath and swallowed painfully, watching Bobby listen.

“Good,” was all he said before hanging up.

He handed the phone back to Dean and left, calling behind him, “Lunch’ll be ready in 20.”

 

…

 

Dean felt the darkness wash over him. He could hear the distant screams of the tortured. Feel the sticky warmth. Smell the decaying bodies, the blood and the entrails. He could taste blood in his mouth, steely, thick and warm. No matter how he shouted, Sam never came. Soon he began to forget what his brother even looked like, that he even had a brother…. and finally he’d forgotten what it was to be human…

“Dean?”

Dean gasped awake, chest heaving, flicking his eyes quickly to where Bobby was standing leaning on the doorframe. He gulped, actively tried to slow down his heart.

“You alright?”

Dean closed his eyes again and wiped the sweat from his forehead, “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

If Bobby rolled his eyes Dean didn’t see it, but there was a pause before he spoke again.

“Lunch is ready. You wanna come out and eat something?”

“Sure,” Dean said, pushing himself up, powering through the trembling in his arms.

He swung his legs around to get out of bed on the side facing Bobby, but he must have moved too quickly, the change in altitude being too much for his fuzzy head.

“Whoa,” Bobby’s hands are on his shoulders, “Easy, boy. Take it slow.”

Dean sniffed and steeled himself, “I’m good.”

“You sure about that?”

“I said I’m good,” Dean snapped.

 

…

 

Sam was getting off work at 5. He’d done a full shift, chest aching from the constant movement, bending and reaching, and wiping tables. Riley had got in an hour ago, taking over for the evening shift.

“Hey, Sam,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder as she walked past.

“Hey, Riley. How are you?”

“I’m good. How’s the day been?”

“Pretty steady actually.”

Riley cocked her hair looking at him, “Are you alright? You look a little beat.”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m alright.”

“Something up with Dean?”

Sam huffed, “Something’s always up with Dean.”

“Hey, speaking off…” she nodded behind Sam and he turned around to see Bobby and Dean ambling through the door. Dean didn’t have his crutches (he’d decided he didn’t need them anymore), but he was walking pretty straight, pretty steady. He had a pale, drawn look about him though. He looked like he’d been sick, and Sam saw him ghost a casual hand across his midsection, confirming suspicions.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Riley smirked as they approached the bar.

Dean met Sam’s eyes and gave him a nod.

“Hey, Riles.”

Sam placed a glass of water in front of Dean, giving him a once over. He looked to Bobby, who sunk heavily into a bar stool and eyed him, a telepathic conversation taking place.

_How is he?_

_Awful. But a pain in the ass as usual._

_Tell me about it._

_Mmhmm._

Dean took a sip of his water and Sam noticed the slight tremble in his hands.

Riley leaned on the bar, clasping her hands in front of her, “What are you boys up to tonight?”

Bobby sighed, “Had to get the idjit out of the house. He’s been driving me crazy all afternoon,” he grunted.

Dean narrowed his eyes in Bobby’s direction and smirked.

“Causing trouble, is he?” Riley chuckled.

“I’d like to cause some trouble with you, sweetheart,” Dean winked.

“Okay, _that_ I didn’t need to hear,” Sam cringed.

 

…

 

Sam, Dean and Bobby all hung out at the bar and had dinner. Dean didn’t eat much, but his mood had perked up and he even mapped out a hit for hustling pool. Even though his hands had shaken every time he’d raised a glass to his mouth, watching him play pool he’d never been steadier. He’d come back to the table an hour later, $500 burning a hole in his pocket. Bobby called it a night and went home, leaving just the brothers. Sam could tell Dean was a little worn around the edges though, so he didn’t stop him when he said he’d needed to get some air.

 

…

 

 

“Hey, asshole!”

Dean turned.

_Crap._

“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble.”

“Really? I didn’t want any trouble either… until you took all my money.”

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes, “You want the money? You can have it.”

“Nah, you see you made me look stupid in front of my girl… I can’t have that.”

The man took a few steps towards Dean and Dean winced as he stepped back, pain rocketing up his spine.

“And you can drop the “wounded vet” act. I know you only did it to hustle me.”

Dean took a heavy breath in, “Dude, seriously, it’s not an act.”

Dean would have turned around and lifted his shirt to show the guy his scar but the guy had already swung a right hook, landing right on Dean’s jaw. It was sloppy. The guy’s form was terrible. Dean could bring him down in an instant. Dean knew how to handle guys like this. He wasn’t even as big as him. But he _couldn’t_ take him down. Not today.

Dean reeled back, stumbling sideways and pressing his hands into the brick wall to keep standing. The punch rattled his entire body.

“Please, man. I’m not kidding… my back –“

The guy advanced and punched Dean in the left side, under his ribs.

Dean groaned, fisting his hand in his hair.

“Hey!”

Dean sighed. He didn’t have to turn to know who that was, and to know he was okay now.

“What the hell’s going on out here           !?”

“Nothing, man, just –“

Dean heard scuffling, turned slightly to see Sam standing over the guy who was flat on his back in the road, bleeding from his lip.

“You beating on a guy with a broken back!?”

“I didn’t know he –“

“Don’t you _ever_ come here again or so help me _God_ I will kill you myself!” Sam stamped down on the guy’s chest, “Do you understand!?”

“Yes, yes, okay!”

Dean looked back at the wall as the guy scrambled away from his giant machine of a brother.

“Sam,” his voiced came out stuttering, as steady as he tried to keep it, layered with pain, weak and desperate.

“Dean, oh my god…” Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and he flinched, “Okay, okay…”

Dean stumbled backwards but managed to keep his footing. Sam grabbed his arm and ducked under his shoulder. Dean leaned on him more than he should have and Sam struggled under his weight, not prepared for it.

“Easy, man.”

Sam walked Dean inside through the back door to the kitchen.

“Riley!” he called, coming through, trying to find a place to put Dean.

Jim was out the back and Sam lifted his chin at him, “Get Riley.”

Jim’s eyes widened at them both and left the kitchen in a hurry.

Dean moaned and clenched his eyes shut.

“Okay, you’re okay. Let’s sit down. How bad is it?”

Dean kept his eyes closed and tried to catalogue the damage. His face and head throbbed, but the punch to the side had done more damage.

“Oh my God, what the hell happened?” Riley was beside Dean before he could even open his eyes to look at her. She pulled his other arm over her shoulders, taking more of his weight off his feet, which he was incredibly grateful for.

“That jackass Dean hustled,” was all Sam offered as an explanation.

Dean groaned, and Sam adjusted his hold on him.

“Come on, let’s sit him down.”

“No,” Dean choked out, “I think… I gotta lie down.”

“Dean, there’s no where –“

“He can lie down in a booth. The seats are wide enough.”

“Yeah but not long enough. His legs can’t hang, it’s bad for his back.”

“Guys,” Dean interrupted.

“Alright, booth it is,” Sam said, and they started walking again.

The bar was closed now, only a few people hanging about. Dean crumpled halfway to the table. Sam shifted to take more of his brother’s weight.

“Come on, man. Little further.”

“Gonne be sick,” he mumbled.

Riley barked orders and Jim came over with a champagne bucket. Dean took his arm off Riley and clutched the bucket to his chest, expelling his dinner.

“Alright. You’re okay,” Sam muttered next to him.

Riley and Jim pulled the table away from the booth bench so they could fit Dean in, and slid a chair against the end of it so Dean could put his legs up.

“ _Ah,_ crap,” Dean winced, back spasming as Sam lowered him down.

“Sorry,” Sam grunted, “Deep breaths.”

Dean couldn’t take deep breaths though, because if he did that he’d start coughing and that would be the worst thing to happen right now.

Sam’s chilly fingers pulled Dean’s shirt up to assess the damage to his side.

“Okay, it’s not that bad, Dean. It’s not that bad.”

Riley appeared next to him with ice wrapped in a tea towel, pressing it to his jaw.

“It just… It jolted me,” Dean said, breathlessly.

Sam scrunched his face in concern, “Do you think it’s…”

Dean could tell what Sam wanted to know. Did he think it had damaged his spine. Did he think it had moved the herniated disc. Did he think the bones had shifted. The panic and worry was written all over Sam’s face.

“No,” Dean croaked, “No… it’s probably nothing,” he added a tight smile just to reassure him.

Riley’s hand was in his hair.

“Sam,” she sighed, “he’s got a fever.”

“Dean, do you think we should go to the hospital?”

“You’re gonna have to knock me out for real if you want to take me there,” Dean groaned.

Sam huffed, “Okay, man. We’ll deal with it.”

Dean closed his eyes, relief washing over him. He didn’t want to go back to hospital. Because if he went back they wouldn’t just let him out straight away.

“Dean?” Riley ruffled her hand in his hair, giving his scalp a little scratch with her fingers.

He opened his eyes, “I’m okay.”

Sam had a hand on Dean’s chest, “What do you need?”

Dean smiled, closing his eyes again, “I guess a painkiller… and a valium… and a new spine.”

Sam actually laughed, "I'll do my best, brother."

 

…


	25. Chapter 25

Dean took the pills and lay on the bench for a while, his head throbbing from what was probably a mild concussion. Riley carted her fingers through his hair and he almost let himself fall asleep at how tender the gesture was, but Sam had gripped his arm and kept him conscious. Eventually, once the relaxants and painkillers had made him suitably numb, they got him into the back seat of the impala. He coughed wet and long once he was upright, the fluid pooled in his lungs after his little stint at being horizontal. Sam took him home, Bobby waiting at the front door when he arrived to help him inside.

He was tired. His brain in a thick fog. He hated feeling like that. Drawing away from consciousness, being pulled down by a cocktail of prescription medication. By the time he was lying in bed, he couldn’t feel a thing.

“How you doing, man?” Sam’s voice was small, hushed in the quiet night.

Dean huffed, attempting a smile, “You know I could have kicked that guys ass?”

Sam looked down, laughing, but he didn’t raise his head again, and Dean knew he was crying. Because it was a lie… and they both knew it.

Eventually Sam just said, “Yeah, I know, man.”

 

…

 

Sam couldn’t help but choke up at Dean’s comment.

When he’d walked out the back to find Dean standing there, _barely_ standing there, the guy advancing on him again, and Dean doing… nothing. It broke his heart. His brother didn’t even fight back. He didn’t lift and arm or clench a fist to throw a punch. He did nothing. He did _nothing_. Time ago Dean would have flattened that guy for even looking somewhat threatening. And in that moment Sam realized that that time had passed. Dean wasn’t a fighter anymore. Dean wasn’t strong anymore. Dean wasn’t a hunter anymore. And it _broke his heart_ … But, what Dean was, was a brother. _His_ brother. So, Sam decided that was all that mattered. And it was all that would ever matter.

“How’s he doin’?” Bobby whispered from the doorway.

Sam finally got up and left his brother’s side, pulling Dean’s door partway shut and entering the hall with Bobby.

“He’s asleep.”

“He hurtin’?”

Sam looked back towards the room and shook his head, “Nah, he was comfortable once we got him down. I think all the pills worked.”

“Well, that’s what they’re there for, I guess,” Bobby grunted as they both wandered out to the kitchen.

“I can’t believe that asshole,” Sam said through clenched teeth.

“Let’s not forget Dean did hustle the guy out of 500 big ones.”

Sam stared at the older hunter, “Are you seriously taking his side?”

Bobby snorted, “O’ course not. I’d sooner kill him myself… I’m just saying.”

Sam sighed, “Did you ever think there’d be a time where Dean would take a hit like that and not fight back?”

Bobby shook his head, “Not a chance.”

Sam leaned on the counter, head dipping.

“But, Sam, the boy is hurt. He’s sick. He’s not going to be how he used to be… not for a while anyway.”

“If Cas would just heal him,” Sam bit, feeling the anger creep up his neck.

“You know it goes deeper than that. Cas said so himself.”

“But it’d be a start, right? That’s all we need. Just… we need hope, Bobby.”

 

…

 

Sam was hurting. He was hurting bad. He’d carried Dean too much after working a full day. His chest was in agony, muscles tight around his broken ribs, tensing up to protect them but only making things worse. He whimpered as he rolled over in bed. He was sweating too, shaking slightly. It had been too long since he’d seen Ruby. Since he’d had a taste.

A kind of understanding dawned on him as he lay there, mouth watering. This was how Dean felt. The want, the desire, the _need_ to get his hands on a bottle, to drink away all his problems. Dean’s drinking though, it didn’t really serve a purpose. _His_ addiction did. He was doing good. He was saving people. He was getting revenge. He was going after Lilith. And he was going to fix this. He was going to help his brother. He _was_. He just needed some more demon blood… and a painkiller, _shit._

He groaned again, pushing over onto his back. He couldn’t sleep like this. He was in too much pain. He tried to remember where he’d left Dean’s heavy duty painkillers… On the bedside table next to Dean, in case he woke up during the night.

Sam pushed himself up to sit on the edge of his bed and skimmed a hand across his chest, wincing.

Time ago Dean would have been in the next bed over, in a dingy motel room, waking up at the sound of him stirring and there to help him, get him whatever his little brother needed. But Sam had to remind himself once again the curse of passing time.

So he struggled forward himself, down the hall and into Dean’s room. He was bending over, snagging the pill bottle when Dean’s voice made him jump.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, humour in his tone.

 _Little shit,_ Sam thought.

Sam dragged a hand down his face, “Jesus, you scared the crap outta me.”

“Gee, fancy that. When you’re the one sneaking around in my room.”

Dean sounded tired and sick, but these days he usually did.

“Sorry.”

“Ribs bothering you?”

Sam relented and sat down on the edge of Dean’s bed.

“Yeah, a little.”

“Well, I guess that’s mostly my fault…”

“No, it’s okay… What are you doing awake anyway?” Sam asked, fiddling with the cap on the bottle.

“Ah, you know me.”

Sam tipped a pill onto his hand, watching it come to rest in between the lines on his palm.

“Yeah,” he sighed, then knocked it back and dry swallowed it.

Silence past and Sam listened to Dean breathe, not ready to walk away yet, sensing something else was coming.

“Sam…”

“Yeah, Dean?”

Dean paused and licked his lips, “… I miss dad.”

Sam looked in his brother’s eyes, surprised the words had come out of his mouth.

“I know it’s been a couple of years now… and I know you didn’t always get along.”

“I miss him too, Dean,” Sam clenched his teeth, breathed out heavily.

Dean sighed, “It doesn’t get better with time. It only gets worse.”

“I know.”

“And I know you didn’t always believe it, or feel it, but dad loved you.”

Sam welled up. Dean didn’t often get emotional. He didn’t talk about these things. He’d built a fortress for himself to hide in. Strong walls. But all walls had cracks. Dean’s showed at night, when he had been left alone with his thoughts, when he was in pain, sick, vulnerable, and drugged out of his mind. It felt like an invasion to listen to Dean now, to let him say these things. But he obviously needed to. So, Sam listened.

“He always wanted the best for you, always wanted you kept safe… it was different with me.”

“Dean… he loved you too.”

“Yeah he did, but… he treated me differently. I had to look out for you. I had to look out for _him._ He changed after mom… He’d come home drunk, beaten. He always had a bottle in his hand.”

Sam waited for Dean to finish, listening to him breathe through the emotion.

“I never thought I’d become him.”

Sam saw Dean’s eyes shining in the moon light through the window, “You’re not, Dean. You’re better than him.”

“I want to get drunk. I do. I know I can’t. I know I’m not supposed to, but I do. I want to drink until I forget everything… until I can’t feel anything at all… I feel like I’m drowning, man… and I can’t get past it… I can’t.”

Sam gulped, feeling a lump in his throat.

“I don’t want you to waste your life,” Dean mumbled, almost too softly to hear.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“No, Dean. What does that mean?”

Sam waited a long time, then Dean cleared his throat.

“You should lie down before those pills knock you on your ass.”

“Dean…”

Dean coughed, and Sam thought it might have just been so he didn’t have to listen to what was coming next. He made a little gasping noise and tilted his head back a little, opening his airway. Sam patted his chest gently.

“Ya’alright?”

“Just wish it didn’t hurt to breathe,” he said in a halting, breathless voice.

“It’ll get better, man,” Sam said, wanting to say so much more. Wanting to tell Dean he’d never leave him. That staying with him and giving up hunting, giving up all of it wouldn’t be wasting his life.

“It’ll get better… I promise.”

 

…

 

Dean’s eyes were stinging so he rubbed them hard with his index finger and thumb, pressing down until balls of darkness and light swam across his vision. Tears were prickling in the corners so he rubbed them away.

Sam was still sitting on the edge of his bed, looking out the window, jaw working.

“I almost forgot to ask you,” Sam said, and Dean felt the air get sucked from the room, because he knew what was coming next, “How did your date go?”

Dean coughed again, grabbing a tissue from the box at his hip to spit into.

“I’ve had better dates,” he groaned, and Sam’s eyes stayed on him for a while, gathering information. They could talk to each other by now without saying anything at all.

“Did the pancakes suck?” Sam said finally.

Dean smiled, “The pancakes were awesome…” he ran a hand across his stomach, “Not so good the second time round though.”

Sam grimaced, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean closed his eyes, “Not really.”

“ _Should_ you talk about it?”

Dean swallowed, “I just… she’s not who I thought she was, I guess,” he paused, “I’m probably just being an ass.”

“You generally are,” Sam said without skipping a beat.

Dean hit him in the arm, then sighed, “I think I might have ruined it.”

“Look, man,” Sam sighed, “If something happened I’m sure you’ll be able to fix it, but you gotta ask yourself… is it worth fixing.”

Dean licked his lips, “Man, you get insightful at 3 o’clock in the morning.”

Sam laughed and put his head down, “You getting much sleep these days?”

Dean winced at a pain in his chest, “Enough.”

Sam nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, “I should get to bed.”

Dean returned the nod.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Dean pointed towards the power cord running from his heat pad, “Flick that switch on, will ya?”

 

…

 

Sam bent and turned on the heat pad, leaving it on level 4, one below the highest, knowing if Dean had the control he’d leave it on 5 all night. Sam groaned as he straightened, needle like jabs of pain stabbing through his ribs.

“Get some ointment on that,” Dean ordered.

Sam stood up, “Yeah, I will.”

“Good boy,” Dean smirked, “Night, Sammy.”

“Goodnight, dude.”

 

…

 

Sam woke up groggy. Weighed down. He wasn’t conditioned to Dean’s pain pills like his brother was. Checking his watch on the nightstand he realised it was after 10 in the morning. He’d slept through, since his head hit the pillow.

He dragged his aching body up and sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair. As he became more aware of his surrounding it was clear to him that he was the last up in the house. He could hear Dean and Bobby talking in the lounge room, in the throws of quite a heated discussion, it sounded like.

He took a deep breath, winced as it pulled against his ribs.

_“You can do it, boy. You just did it before.”_

_“Yeah, I know, Bobby. Give me five freakin’ seconds.”_

_“Would you stop your bitching and get on with it?”_

_“… Drill sergeant.”_

Sam followed their voices down the hall. He was surprised to find Dean in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt, lying on the floor on his back doing his exercises, Bobby crouched closely by him. What was unusual about the scene was that Dean’s hips were raised, a good ten inches off the ground in a near perfect bridge pose.

The way Dean was positioned, he couldn’t see Sam enter, which was probably a good thing as it looked like a lot of concentration was involved. Bobby, however, glanced over, widening his eyes as if to tell him not to speak or announce his presence.

“That’s it, son. Keep your back straight, tuck your chin in.”

Sam could see Dean trembling, letting out his breaths steadily, sweat on his temple. Dean had been given a set of exercises to do each day, Bobby and Sam had studied them up and had watched Dean do them every day since he was cleared after surgery. Bridge was on the list, but Dean had never been able to do it before. Until today. Until now.

Bobby’s hands hovered under Dean’s back.

“Okay, good. Come down. Nice and slow. You got it.”

Once Dean’s back was flat on the ground, Sam walked into sight.   
Dean looked up, face a little pale but red on his cheeks and around his hairline, sweat flecked across his forehead and upper lip. He was breathing through his mouth, a hand pressing down on his chest like he was sore. But he smiled, pride in his latest victory dripping off him.

“Heya, Sammy.”

“Man, what the heck? You just did that for like ten seconds. That’s awesome!”

Bobby looked down at Dean, sitting back on his heels, “He’s done it three times this morning.”

Dean grinned and closed his eyes, clearly exhausted.

“Dude, how is it you get beat up and are better than you were before?”

Dean sighed, and allowed the assistance from Sam and Bobby to stand.

“I’m not better,” Dean moaned, pulling up his shirt and exposing the bruise on his side, “Just more… motivated.”

Sam furrowed his brow, “Dean - ”

“Don’t, Sam,” he muttered, walking into the kitchen, “The shit almost hit the fan last night… I can’t just keep biding my time on this. I can’t put my hope and trust in angels. The only way out of this is through it.”

Dean lay his hands on the bench and coughed towards the ground. It rattled thickly at first but tapered off towards the end.

Sam sighed, “How’s your breathing? You shouldn’t be lying flat, even to do those exercises.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Sam, please.”

“Alright, boys. That’s enough,” Bobby said calmly.

“I just don’t want –“

“I get it, Sam. I do. You don’t want me doing something stupid and going backwards, but I’m alright, okay? I promise. And I’ll tell you the minute I’m not.”

Sam stared at his brother for a moment, Bobby silent beside him.

“Deal?” Dean rasped, wiping sweat from his brow.

Sam nodded, “Yeah… yeah. Deal.”

“Good,” Dean breathed, letting a smile tug at his lips, “Now make me a sandwich.”

 

…


	26. Chapter 26

Sam wasn’t sure if Dean remembered their talk that night, about dad, and all the things he’d revealed. Very telling things about his current mental state. Even how they talked about Katie. Sam wasn’t sure. But he dare not ask. Whatever it was, whatever had broken in Dean that night had somehow transitioned into where he was now. Almost back to his macho self, wanting to push through. Determined. Driven. _Dean_. For some reason, though, it made Sam uneasy. He didn’t want Dean pushing it too far. He was in a really fragile state, physically and mentally. And Sam didn’t want to count his blessings. Not too soon anyway.

Dean’s back was healing though. He was doing the right things. Staying on top of the exercises the physio gave him, taking short walks, stretching. He was going to be in pain for a long time, maybe forever, but for now his back was as stable as it was going to get, bones fused and held together with rods and pins and things they probably had to drill in… it’s a wonder Dean had even consented to the surgery in the first place. After… everything he’d been through. Sam shuddered to think. It was going to be a long recovery, but he _was_ recovering. The complications with the pneumonia didn’t make things any easier on him. That was probably the most worrying thing at this point. His voice was still strained. He couldn’t lie down for too long without getting this pain in his chest from the build up of fluid. He was coughing all the time, and was out of breath from just walking down the hall. He still occasionally pulled the nebuliser out when it got really bad.

Sam stared into his coffee cup, tilting it back and forth and watching the liquid move. Sometimes he had to stop and think. Catalogue Dean’s problems. Not only was his back still mending, and his lungs still struggling, he was still stricken with nightmares, barely sleeping, and blacking out at weird moments whether he was triggered or not. Sam tried to believe he wasn’t drinking but he had his doubts. He couldn’t watch him every second.

So, what was it then? Broken back, pneumonia with pleural effusion, recent shoulder surgery, PTSD, alcoholism, hepatitis… Sam put his face in his hands.

“What’s eatin’ you, Francis?”

Dean had wandered into the kitchen and was staring at him, one eyebrow raised, hand on the handle of the fridge.

Sam smiled, lifting his head, “Nothing. Just tired, I guess.”

Dean frowned, “You getting some sleep? Those ribs getting any worse?”

Sam warmed inside. It was nice having his brother back. The moments like this, where Dean seemed more like himself, were few and far between. Sam relished them when he had them now, wishing he’d done the same before Dean had gone to hell.

“Nah, they’re about the same. I’m alright, just not used to your industrial pain killers, man. How do you even stand upright on them?”

“Practice,” Dean smirked and opened the fridge.

Sam looked at his watch, “Dude, I made you a sandwich an hour ago.”

“And I’m hungry.”

Sam chuckled.

 

_Knock, knock, knock._

Dean turned, looking at Sam, eyebrows furrowed. Sam returned the stare and got up, heading to the door and opening it.

“Hi. Sam, right? We’ve met.”

“Yeah, Katie, hi,” Sam smiled politely, as Katie stood on their front porch.

Sam heard Dean approach from behind him.

“Hey,” he said, and Sam stepped aside, “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I wanted to talk to you.”

Dean swallowed, elevated his chin slightly.

“If you’ll let me.”

Dean coughed twice into his fist, “Let’s take a walk.”

Sam gave a tiny nod and backed off as Dean shut the front door behind him.

 

…

 

Dean pulled his boots on in awkward silence as Katie watched him. He fought a little head rush when he’d straightened.

“You sure you wanna go for a walk? Are you feeling okay?”

Dean suppressed a groan, clearly he looked about as good as he felt, “I’m fine.”

They went slowly down the few stairs at the front of the house and didn’t speak until they’d made it about ten metres down the street.

“Dean, I –“

“Stop.”

She sighed, eyes shiny, “I just want to explain.”

“No… I want to explain. Some… stuff happened to me. Bad stuff. Awful… stuff I can’t even…”

Her hand hovered near his arm but didn’t touch him.

“And I’m not okay… at all. I drink too much and I don’t sleep most nights, and I can’t stop… remembering it. All of it,” Dean paused, biting his lip, wondering if he should even be talking about all this, “You know, when I was in hospital they made me see a shrink.”

“I’m sorry –“

“And part of me thinks, you know, maybe I _should_ see someone, but I can’t because I’ll have to talk about it and I, I, I just can’t.”

“I didn’t know.”

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, “Maybe I acted like a dick. I’m sorry. But it felt like a deception. You were a good thing… something else to think about. But now…”

Katie looked down and discreetly wiped a tear.

“Katie, you’re young and beautiful. A guy like me… you should run like hell,” he said softly.

“Dean, I never started this whole thing because I wanted to try and _fix_ you. Obviously I’m interested in how the human mind works, it’s why I was studying psychology. So, yes, I found you interesting. I wanted to understand, but it’s more than that. I really, truly do want to help you get through this, because I _like_ you, a little more than just a friend. I understand if you don't feel that way.”

Dean sighed, stopping to sit on a park bench. He was starting to pant like he’d run a marathon trying to walk and talk at the same time. Katie sat next to him, body turned towards him.

He paused, cleared his throat, watched a neighbour walking their dog.

“I don’t.”

Katie looked down and Dean didn’t even glance over. He knew she was crying.

“Because I can’t. There’s too much going on in my life right now.”

“That’s okay,” she said, nodding.

“I’m sorry.”

Katie brought a hand to her face and wiped a tear, Dean still didn’t look at her.

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

Dean sniffed, “Feels like it.”

He bent forward and rested his elbows on his knees, releasing a cough that came rumbling out of his chest.

She touched him for the first time, putting a delicate hand on his back and rubbing up and down as he shuddered with coughs. This was what he liked. To be touched. That was why just having sex with girls was so much easier than all of this… feelings crap.

“You have a lot of people that care about you, Dean.”

Dean rubbed his fingers across his brow.

“Yeah, guess so,” he muttered. Mainly because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Katie sighed and when he glanced over at her she was smiling, tears glistening on her cheeks, “I should go. Do you want me to walk back with you?”

Dean shook his head, “Nah, I’ll… sit for a while.”

She stood and put her hands in her pockets, “I’ll see ya, Dean.”

Dean nodded and offered her a small smile. He didn’t watch as she walked away. He didn't even look.

 

…

 

Sam looked out the window and saw Katie’s car was gone from out the front.

“Bobby?” Sam called.

“Yeah?” he heard echo from the older hunter’s room.

“Has Dean come back yet?”

Bobby came down the hall, confused expression on his face, “Haven’t seen him.”

Sam furrowed his brow and opened the front door.

“I’ll find him.”

Bobby nodded, “Call me if you need me.”

Sam nodded back and closed the door behind him.

He headed down the street in the direction he watched they had taken. It wasn’t long before he found his brother. Sitting on a park bench, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, head down.

He heard him cough from down the street, watched his shoulder’s sag even further. He looked wrecked.

Sam didn’t say anything. He knew Dean had seen him coming, and knew he didn’t have to announce his presence.

He sat down beside his brother, hands in his pockets and stared straight ahead. They were silent for a while before Sam spoke.

“You okay?”

Dean sighed, ending with a cough, “Yeah, fantastic,” he said sarcastically.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I want my life back, Sam.”

Sam looked straight at his brother for the first time since he sat down.

“I want out of this stupid town.”

Sam grimaced, looking back down at his shoes, “I know you do.”

Dean coughed again, then groaned, “Alright, help me up, dude.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and helped him stand.

The brothers walked down the street shoulder to shoulder. Dean was a little slow but not as slow as he had been, and he wasn’t limping or favouring one side over the other and that was good.

Dean sniffed, “You got work today?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, glancing sidelong at his brother.

Dean just nodded his head and kept his gaze forward.

“You wanna… come with me?”

Dean furrowed his brow and looked at Sam, “You serious?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Dean looked confused, “Like to _work_?”

Sam smiled, “To do whatever, man. If you just wanna hang out, have dinner and hustle pool, that’s fine. If you wanna give me a hand that works too. I’m gonna need a few breaks today, my ribs are really bothering me… I could use your help.”

“Don’t know if I should be hustling pool for a while…” Dean muttered, cynically.

“You just gotta pick your marks a bit better,” Sam smirked.

Dean grinned and eyed him, “Shut up,” he moaned.

 

…

 

Sam drove them both down to the clinic before work. Dean had to have another chest x-ray to make sure his pleural effusion had resolved. It was an in/out job. The radiologist didn’t tell him anything, just that she’d fax her report and the images of to his GP. Dean was happy enough with that. He didn’t want to have to deal with any more health issues at the moment. He just wanted to get to the bar and see Riley… and put his hands all over her…

 

…

 

Dean looked over the bar to where Sam was sitting, having a half hour break. Dean knew Sam was hurting but he also knew that this was mainly for his benefit. Sam could tell he was itchy, wanting to get out, sick of the monotony. This was his olive branch. And at the moment it was enough.

“Hey, handsome. Wanna help me bring a keg up?”

Dean raised his eyebrow and flicked his gaze to Riley, who had her hip popped, leaning against the bar. She was wearing short, tight black shorts. He followed her long olive skinned legs with his eyes, down to the floor where she had black converse shoes on. He took a breath in, then found her eyes again.

“What are you kidding?”

She smirked, “No, I…” she approached, “really need you to help bring a keg up… you know, out the back, from the storeroom…”

Dean grinned, looking down.

Riley stepped out towards the back, walking backwards, eyes not leaving his.

“Come on, stud. You don’t want me to have to… do it by myself, do you?” She winked.

Dean cleared his throat and signalled Sam.

Sam furrowed his brow and came over.

“What’s up?”

“I’m tapping you in.”

“You okay?”

“Oh, I will be.”

“Huh?”

Dean just smiled.

 

…

 

Riley had her legs wrapped around Dean’s waist, her backside parked on top of a stack of beer cartons. Dean kissed her neck, teeth skimming her jaw line as they moved against each other.

_“Yeah, I’ll just get another keg!”_

“Oh, shit,” Riley whispered in Dean’s ear as the door to the storeroom opened.

“Whoa! Oh my god, sorry, guys!” Jake, the young bartender, backed out of the room.

Riley pushed Dean off, “Shit,” she said again.

Dean laughed, doing up his pants and fastening his belt, “What’s the big deal?”

“I’m that kids boss, Dean,” Riley muttered, pulling her hair back in a ponytail.

“Hey, it was your idea,” Dean put his hands around the curves of her waist.

Riley smiled, going weak.

Dean turned around and coughed into the crook of his elbow. He sucked a sharp breath in.

“Hey, you okay?”

Her hand was on his back.

Dean sipped a few more controlled breaths, his chest sending tendrils of fire around his sides to his back where her hand lay. He put a hand out and leaned against the shelf, bracing himself for another cough that was clawing it’s way up. When he started, it honestly felt like he’d never stop.

“Dean?” Riley’s hands were firm, rubbing up and down either side of his spine.

He went down on one knee.

“Dean, honey, breathe…”

Dean finally managed to swallow down over the cough and get an uninterrupted breath, “That sucked,” he muttered.

Her fingers ran up through his hair, “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Dean pushed himself back up and Riley helped, grabbing his trembling arm, “No, I’m good.”

“You sure?” She crinkled her brow and Dean reached out a finger to smooth it away.

“Stop worrying. I’m alright.”

“Okay,” she said, gaze curious, “Come back upstairs and sit down for a minute.”

“Yeah, not a bad idea.”

 

…

 

It was a bad idea. A very bad idea. For Dean to be working in a bar right now. He wanted a drink more than anything. If he could just get one drop. One sip without anyone noticing, he’d be golden. He knew he was being watched though. Between Sam and Riley tag teaming he had no chance. His chest was warm, a heat radiating from the inside. It was uncomfortable. He couldn’t get away from it. And coughing only made the damn thing worse.

He was sitting at the bar, watching the others work while he rested from his most recent coughing fit that had taken a lot out of him, when his phone rang.

“Hello,” he answered, trying to muffle another cough in his sleeve.

_“Hi, Dean. It’s Dr Reid.”_

“Oh, hey, what up, doc?” Dean grumbled.

_“I just looked at the report from your chest x-ray this afternoon and I think you should come into the hospital.”_

Dean’s heart beat a little faster, “When?”

_“Well, tonight. Now, if you could.”_

“What are you saying?”

_“I’m saying you need to come in as soon as possible.”_

Dean sighed, “Just tell me what’s going on.”

_“The effusion hasn’t resolved like I’d hoped. It’s actually gotten worse, to the point where there’s severely decreased lung function.”_

“Yeah, and what are you going to do to me?”

_“Dean… we should discuss this at the hospital when you get here.”_

“No, we can discuss it now.”

He heard Dr Reid sigh on the other end of the phone, _“We need to insert a tube in between your ribs to drain off the excess fluid.”_

“Forget it,” Dean snapped, feeling his hands start tingling, mind flashing back to the things they’d stuck in him in hell.

_“Dean, I know it’s quite invasive but I assure you it’s completely necessary…”_

Dean’s hearing turned fuzzy and he could no longer hear Dr Reid. His mind filled with white noise, crippling, debilitating white noise, and then the screams came, and he felt it. He felt the knife being driven into his side, carving through his chest like they were serving up BBQ pork ribs. He felt his lungs fill with blood and it flooded all the way up his throat until he was coughing and spewing blood out his mouth in great pools.

_“Dean! Are you there?”_

Dean’s chest was heaving, his vision blurring. He was panting into the phone, and he almost dropped it his hands were shaking so much.

_“Dean, what’s going on?”_

Dean took a few more breaths to calm himself, “I said forget it,” he managed to mutter with his dry tongue.

He hung up and shoved the phone back in his pocket, shakily finding his way across the room to the men’s room.

Thankfully no one was in there when he got there, and he threw up in the sink. Sweat in his hairline. When he’d finally managed to calm his racing heart, he threw some water on his face and stumbled back out. Sam was watching him as he came back to the bar.

“You okay?” Sam asked, worry etched in his features.

“’Course,” Dean straightened up and plastered on a grin, “Never better.”

 

…


	27. Chapter 27

Sam knew something was wrong. Dean was sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a coke that had to be warm by now. He looked hunched, pale and feeble. He was coughing more and more, and it seemed like it was getting harder for him to recover from a fit. He’d come out of the bathroom earlier looking like death warmed over.

“Sam,” Riley called, “Get the lead out.”

Sam went back to serving. Business had picked up in the last hour or so. He tried to sneak glances at his brother every now and again but a crowd of young kids celebrating some sort of event had flooded the place and it was getting longer and longer between visuals.

_“Hey, need some help in here!”_

Sam’s head shot up. A guy was half hanging out of the men’s room.

_“Somebody call an ambulance!”_

Sam spilt beer on his hands, the cup in his hand running over.

Sam’s glanced around briefly, looking for Dean. When he caught Riley’s eyes she’d been doing the same thing. Dean wasn’t sitting at the bar anymore.

Sam dropped the glass and it shattered, he jumped the bar and ran towards the men’s room.

_“It’s like he can’t breathe or something.”_

Sam burst through the door, pushing people out of the way.

“Dean!”

 

…

 

_“Sats are 88%, resp rate 34...”_

_“...BP’s 160/80, heart rate 127.”_

_“Temp 102.2.”_

_“I need a salbutamol nebuliser… Dean? It’s Dean, right?”_

_“Ye-yeah.”_

Sammy?

_“I’m right here, buddy. I’m right here. You gotta let these guys help you, okay?... Good. That’s good, man. You’re doing great.”_

_“Let’s get that nebuliser going…”_

_“Dean, just slow down your breathing.”_

_“I got a wheeze in the upper lobes and lower right, absent breath sounds on the lower left.”_

_“He had pneumonia and pleural effusion.”_

_“…They’re gonna need to prep a chest drain. Call emergency and let ‘em know we’re on our way.”_

“No.”

_“Dean, hey, calm down.”_

_“Heart rate 145.”_

_“I need you to calm down. We’re gonna help you, alright?”_

_“He’s not calming down. Resp rate 38.”_

_“Okay, Dean, this is going to sting a little bit…”_

…

 

Dean felt like his head had been disconnected from his body. He could hear them talking around him, feel the movement, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t fight back.

_“Just, relax, Dean.”_

_“I need a bolus of propofol.”_

_“Don’t fight the tube, Dean, it’s helping you breathe.”_

_“Can someone get restraints?”_

_“I need someone on this side to hold that arm down.”_

Dean drifted in and out, sometimes it felt like only a minute. Sometimes it felt much longer than that. At first there were lots of people around him, lots of talking, a soft voice in his ear occasionally telling him not to bite down on the tube. But despite the voice being soft the grip was strong on his arms, holding them down by his sides. He wondered if he was back in hell. Sometimes they spoke nicely to him then. They spoke so nicely, and those voices cut even deeper.

_“You ready with the drain?”_

_Ohhhhh, god._

He felt the pressure on his ribs, but it didn’t hurt. He couldn’t feel a thing.

 

…

 

Sam sat in the small empty waiting room of the ICU on the edge of his seat, hands clenched tightly in front of him, his fingers turning white. Bobby was across from him, running his hand across his beard nervously back and forth, back and forth.

_Scratch, scratch. Scratch, scratch._

“Would you stop that?” Sam snapped.

Bobby’s expression remained level, but his hand ceased movement.

“He’s gonna be fine, Sam.”

“Stop saying that. Stop saying that everything’s going to be okay. It’s not. Dean’s _not_ okay.”

“You can’t lose hope now, son.”

“Dean has a _tube_ down his _throat_! He needs a machine to breathe for him!”

“Sam, sit down.”

“And where’s the angels, huh? Where’s Cas in all this?” Sam looked up at the ceiling, “You hear that, Cas! You get your ass down here and fix my brother!”

“Sam,” Bobby was up at his side, hand on his shoulder.

A fluttering of wings.

“Hello, Sam.”

Sam spun around, almost ready to swing a punch.

“Fix Dean,” he ordered through clenched teeth.

“Sam, I…”

“Don't, Cas. Just don’t.”

“Sam!” Cas said firmly, “I can’t be here right now. I shouldn’t even be talking to you. Things are… complicated.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Bobby interrupted.

“I _will_ heal your brother.”

“Y-you will?”

“I just need some time… I will return.”

Sam blinked and Cas was gone.

Bobby let out a breath, “Well, he’s one cryptic son of a bitch.”

Sam stumbled back a few steps and let his ass find the seat. He felt like he’d had the breath knocked out of him.

“Did you hear that, Bobby?”

“I heard it, son.”

Sam laughed despite himself, “He said he’d –“

“I know what he said,” Bobby muttered curtly.

Sam looked up at that, “What’s wrong? You don’t believe him?”

“Believe me, I want to. But the way that man skirts around the truth, Sam,” Bobby shook his head, “I ain’t counting chickens before they hatch.”

Sam sighed.

“You know what? It doesn’t matter either way, because we’ll get through it. With or without Cas.”

Sam smiled a little.

“Sam Winchester?”

Sam was standing before he knew it, looking at the young lady in the doorway.

“You can come and see your brother now.”

 

…

 

Dean was unconscious for four days while they resolved the effusion. His lung had partially collapsed by the time they’d got him in. But Sam had been reassured that it had healed okay. He was on strong antibiotics, a combination of a few different ones to try and finally kick this particularly nasty bug, and on his most recent chest xray the pneumonia had almost completely gone. Dr Reid was optimistic, so on the fifth day the tube was removed. It took Dean a few hours to settle down but his breathing seemed to ease. He was getting morphine through his drip so he didn’t complain of any pain, but Sam could see a haunted look in his eyes. There’d been no word from Castiel since he’d promised to heal Dean so Sam kept quiet about it. He wasn’t going to fill his brother with false hope.

Dean shifted in his bed and a look of what Sam could only describe as fear dawned on his face. He swallowed and turned his head towards his brother.

“There’s… something in my side, isn’t there?”

Sam nodded at his brother, “They had to get the fluid out, but it’ll come out tomorrow probably.”

Dean swallowed again.

“You feel sick?” Sam asked.

“… Tired,” Dean muttered, eyes closing.

“Get some rest, dude. I’ll be here.”

 

…

 

Dean let his eyes fall shut. He was numb all over. It wasn’t a nice feeling. He almost missed the pain. That felt normal, at least. He’d been in and out of it for the past day, and he was sick of waking up in a freaking hospital without knowing how he got there. He had tubes everywhere, in his arm, in his neck, in his ribs, and, god forbid, in his penis. At least he could breathe easier. That awful death rattle that he’d had in his lungs for weeks was gone. So he didn’t understand why he felt so awful. It just felt like things were building up, jumping on the pile and he was slowly drowning under the weight of it. He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep this up. He was just so damn tired.

 

…

 

Sam watched his brother lie there with his eyes closed, seeing a tear roll out the corner of his eye, carving a line down to the bottom of his ear. He took a deep breath. Dean wasn’t okay. Maybe medically he was now stable, but mentally he was far from it.

Sam’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, thinking it would be Riley or Bobby. It was not.

He got up and crossed the ICU to the door.

“I told you not to call me.”

_“Don’t flatter yourself, Sam. This is important.”_

Sam exited and loitered in the hall.

“What do you want, Ruby?”

_“Not that you and your invalid brother care, but Lilith broke another seal yesterday… She’s getting closer.”_

“What do you expect me to do?”

_“I expect you to get off your ass and fight! You’re the only one that can do this, Sam.”_

Sam sighed, “Well, I can’t do it alone.”

_“And what am I, chopped liver?”_

“I mean, I can’t do it without Dean.”

Ruby sighed on the other end, _“Look, I’m sorry about Dean. You know I am. But if you had a choice between saving the world and sitting around worrying about your brother, which one do you think Dean would want you to do?”_

“Dean doesn’t approve of my… methods.”

_“Sam, I know you love your brother, but you need to start making decisions for yourself. I need you to help me stop Lilith… to save the world, okay? If the world ends it won’t matter that your brother’s slightly mad at you, will it? Because everyone will be dead.”_

“Alright, that’s enough.”

_“Truth’s hard.”_

Sam rubbed his fingers over his forehead, “Give me a few days here. A week tops. We just gotta get Dean home, okay? I gotta be here for him now.”

_“Cool, I’ll just tell Lilith to stop breaking seals until you’ve finished your little vacation.”_

_*Click*_

Sam scrunched his face up angrily, “Dammit,” he whispered.

 

…


	28. Chapter 28

“Who was that?”

Sam nearly dropped the phone as he spun around, coming face to face with Bobby.

“Uh, Riley,” Sam shrugged, “She’s planning on coming by later.”

Bobby stayed silent for a moment, assessing, like he didn’t quite believe him. Sam wondered how much of the conversation he’d heard. He finally spoke, “Well, good. We need all hands on deck here and keep taking it in shifts. Which, by the way, you look awful. Go home and get some sleep.”

Sam shook his head. Yeah, he looked awful because of the lack of sleep and the constant stress, but he also knew part of it was because it had been so long since he’d seen Ruby. So long since his last top up.

“I told Dean I’d stay,” Sam stuffed his phone away and opened the door, allowing Bobby to go in in front of him.

“Dean’s so out of his head right now, I doubt he’d even remember that,” Bobby snorted.

“Well, then I have to stay.”

Bobby sighed and led the way to Dean’s bed.

Dean still had his eyes closed but Sam could tell he wasn’t sleeping. It could have been the way his face looked tense, or how his hands were clenched at his sides. But it was mainly the sound of the monitor alarming as his heart rate shot up past 120 and his breathing quickened to 30 breaths per minute.

Sam made it to him before the nurse did.

“Dean?”

Dean didn’t open his eyes but Sam could see he was scared.

The nurse was at his other side, hand on his shoulder, “Dean, take some deep breaths for me. You’re okay.”

Sam’s hand wrapped around his brother’s closed fist, the other hand a steady weight on his chest.

“Dean,” he said, right by his ear.

They watched his heart rate come down on the monitor as his breathing slowed. Eventually his eyes flickered open, they looked bloodshot, glassy, and heartbreakingly exhausted.

He cleared his throat and licked his lips before he spoke, “Nightmare.”

 

…

 

Dean moved from the ICU to a ward a day later, and four days after that they let him go home. The pneumonia was gone. The fluid in his chest was gone. His lungs were working well again. It was clear Dr Reid had picked one thing off the extensive list and decided to focus on that, on what he _could_ fix. And Sam had heard nothing from Cas, no matter how much he shouted to the heavens.

It was a Wednesday morning when Sam decided he’d had enough. Dean was sleeping in his room, Bobby had gone to assist on a hunt a few towns over and promised he’d be back that night.

Sam wrote on the calendar, knowing Dean would check that.

_Work 10am._

He packed his duffle, put on his boots and quietly left the house, pulling his phone out as he did so.

It rang once.

_“Sam.”_

“Where can I meet you?”

 

…

 

Dean lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He heard Sam’s boots on the wood floor, then the front door open and close, plunging the house into silence. He sighed. Looking at the clock on the bedside table he could see it was just after 9:30. He was sore. And now Sam wasn’t here to get him a painkiller, Bobby either. He sucked in a breath as his back twinged. All this lying around had made things worse. The painkillers were in the kitchen where Sam had left them. All he had on his bedside table was a half drunk bottle of water and a box of valium. Dean stared at them for far too long. Eventually he closed his eyes, tried to do what the shrink had taught him.

_“What are ten things you can hear?”_

Dean chewed the inside of his lip.

_Birds._

_A dog bark._

_A baby crying._

_The rumble of the impala as Sam pulled out down the street._

_A garbage truck._

_His heart beat…_

_The ringing in his ears._

_The screams._

His _scream…_

_…_

Dean pinched the skin on his wrist.

_A lawn mower._

Was that ten?

“Close enough,” Dean mumbled out loud.

He sighed again. He was friggen bored. But he was too sore to try and get up. If he made it out to the lounge room then at least he could watch TV, take his mind off things. It was bad when he was alone, left to think about everything. TV would be good. TV would help.

A minute later Dean decided that was too ambitious. He wanted painkillers. Lots of painkillers.

So, he reached over and grabbed the box of valium instead.

 

…

 

“Dean…”

“Hmm,” Dean groaned.

“Dean!”

“Wha’?” he mumbled, wishing the hands would stop poking at him, stop shaking him.

“Geez, how many of these things did you take?”

“Quit it, Bobby…” Dean knocked Bobby away but managed to get his eyes open. He felt like a bus had been dropped on him. Sluggish and weak.

“Boy, I’ve been trying to wake you for a good ten minutes.”

“I took a valium,” Dean slurred, trying to get his tongue to work.

“Yeah, I can see that. Did you take the whole box?” Bobby sounded angry.

“I took a couple…”

Dean watched Bobby go through the box, counting the pills. He let his eyes drift to the window. He furrowed his brow. It was dark outside.

“Wha’ time is it?”

“After 8,” Bobby grunted.

“S’weird…”

Dean relaxed back and let sleep pull him under again.

 

…

 

The next time he woke up he could coordinate his limbs a bit better. But being more awake meant he was more aware of the pain.

“Bobby?” he couldn’t get his voice past a whisper, mouth dry.

It turned out Bobby was closer than he thought.

“Yeah, son?”

“I need a painkiller.”

“Okay, hang on.”

Dean kept his eyes closed. Bobby returned quickly.

“Here, son, you’ll have to sit up a little.”

Bobby, bless him, had brought a straw for his water, and Dean could have kissed him. He lifted his head and Bobby put another pillow under it. Dean took the pill and the water and swallowed, unable to think of anything else until he knew he’d had something to get the pain under control.

“Y’alright?” Bobby asked softly.

Dean nodded, “Where’s Sam?”

“Still at work, I think.”

Dean’s eyes widened, “Still? What time is it?”

“Uh, ten past eleven.”

Dean was struggling upright before his body registered its stiffness.

“Whoa, slow down, boy.”

Dean panted, “Give me my phone.”

 

…

 

 _"Yello!_ _MacGinley’s Bar and Grill.”_

"Get Riley."

 _"Is'at you Dean?"_ Jim said loudly over the roar of the jukebox.

"Put Riley on the phone."

 _"Geez, good to hear from you too,"_ Jim muttered quietly, but loud enough to be heard.

_"Riles! Dean for ya."_

Dean waiting, gritting his teeth.

_"Hey, Dean. What's up, honey?"_

"Send Sam home now."

_"What?"_

"He's been there since 10am, that's longer than 12 hours! If you're gonna run him in to the ground then I don't want him working for you!"

_"Jesus, Dean, calm down."_

"Sam is exhausted. He's injured. You can't work him like that. I thought you understood our situation. I thought you would -"

_"Wow, Dean. Stop. Sam is not even working today."_

Dean's heart leapt into his throat.

_"I have been nothing but understanding to you and Sam's situation, and I'm giving Sam all the work he can manage because I know you guys need the money."_

"Riley..."

_"Next time you accuse me of something, Dean, get your facts straight."_

_*Click*_

Dean’s hands were shaking. Oh, god. Where the hell was Sam?

“Bobby,” Dean stared at his phone.

“What is it, boy?”

“Sam didn’t even work today…”

Bobby cocked his head, eyebrows furrowed, then something dawned across his face.

“You know something, don’t you?” Dean directed a finger at the older hunter.

“Sam was… he was working a job,” Bobby pushed his hat back to scratch his head, “At least I think. I found a motel room key in his pocket when I was doing laundry a couple’a weeks back.”

Dean steeled his jaw, cast his eyes skyward, “Son of a bitch.”

“Dean…”

“No,” Dean shook his head and looked back down at his phone, turning the GPS tracker on on Sam’s cell, “Get in the car. You’re driving.”

 

…

 

“What exactly are you planning to do?” Bobby argued from the driver’s seat of his ‘71 Chevelle.

Dean had the phone to his ear again, listening to it ring out on the other end as Sam didn’t answer.

“Shut up,” Dean moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “God, I can’t even think.”

“That’s because you knocked yourself out on 5 valium.”

Dean shook his head, trying to shake loose cobwebs. Yes, it was because he was still whacked from the handful of valium he’d taken, but he didn’t really need to be reminded of that.

“I knew this would happen,” Dean grunted, “We can’t walk away. We can’t ever just walk away.”

Bobby clenched his jaw.

“You know who this smells of?” Dean continued to rant, “That black eyed bitch, Ruby.”

“Well, juries still out on that one. Let’s just find the idjit first.”

Dean rubbed his eyes, digging his fingers in until he saw stars.

“You doing okay there?” Bobby quirked from beside him.

Dean grumbled, “Doin’ the best I can.”

“Yeah, and how are you _really_ doing? This the most you’ve been upright all week.”

Dean looked at the phone in his hand, trying to focus his eyes. His head was pounding and his arms felt like lead weights. His back was a dull ache, but it was manageable. It was the cocktail of prescription pills in his system that was messing with him. He was running on nothing but adrenaline.

Dean cleared his throat and dialled Sam’s number again.

 

…

 

“Where is Lilith?” Sam shouted, tripping holy water onto the bald head of a poor demon’s meat suit. The demon wailing as the water hissed and burned.

“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t be telling you, _Winchester_ ,” the demon cackled, even as it clenched it’s teeth and cried out again as Sam poured some more holy water over it’s bubbling skin.

“Wrong answer,” Sam bit.

“We know you’ve had direct contact with Lilith, alright? Cut the bullshit and tell us what we want to know or things are going to get _really_ ugly,” Ruby rounded the chair the demon was tied to, staying carefully outside of the devil’s trap on the floor.

“Go to hell, Ruby,” the demon spat.

“Been there,” she shrugged, “didn’t really agree with me.”

“You know what you are if you won’t talk?” Sam sneered, “Useless… and you know what I do to demons who are useless? I send their asses straight back to hell.”

“Then you may as well start now, because you’re not getting anything out of me… besides, whatever you could do to me, Lilith can do worse. And that is a wrath I’m not prepared to face.”

Sam stared at Ruby, “This guy is worthless.”

Ruby shrugged, “Well, he’s worth something… Practice.”

 

…

 

“He’s in here,” Dean grunted as Bobby pulled the car up in front of an old beat up warehouse.

It had taken hours to get there and Dean was stiff, pins and needles tingling in his feet. But he pushed his door open and stood up on his own, holding onto the roof for support.

“You good?”

Dean groaned, straightening, “I’m fine. Hand me my gun.”

Bobby slung a duffle over his shoulder, “Do we even know what we’re walking into?”

He handed Dean his sawed off and Colt .45.

“Prepare for anything,” Dean tucked his colt in the back of his pants, pausing for a second as he felt the cold metal against his scar, his muscles rippling beneath it.

He raised the sawed off and waved a hand.

Dean and Bobby did a sweep of the perimeter. Dean hadn’t held a gun like this, for a prolonged time, in a while. His shoulder did not like the position. He rolled his shoulder a few times, gun still raised, his brow permanently furrowed with the pain he was forcing down.

Dean found a door at the back of the building, and waited for Bobby to join him.

Bobby edged the door open.

_“… and you know what I do to demons that are useless? I send their asses straight back to hell.”_

Dean could hear Sam talking, and the demon screaming. Hearing the sounds of torture almost sent Dean in a downward spiral, flashing back on his time down under.

Bobby’s hand appeared on his shoulder, gripping tightly. It was his bad shoulder and he was kind of grateful, because he needed the jolt of pain to bring him back to reality.

They managed to get into a position where they could see Sam and Ruby, and the demon tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Dean narrowed his eyes as Sam raised his hand, closing his eyes.

The demon started choking, coughing, spitting out black smoke that travelled down towards the floor and disappeared through the floorboards, searing them red.

Dean looked back at his brother as blood dripped from his nose. When it seemed the demon was gone, Sam lowered his hand, letting out a breath.

“Good work, Sam. But you’re going to have to be better than that if we’re going to take on Lilith.”

Dean couldn’t push down the anger anymore.

“Yeah, change of plans,” he said, stepping out, gun trained on Ruby, “Sam’s coming with me.”

“Dean?” Sam gasped, eyes wide in shock.

Dean glared at his brother, “Bobby, check the guy.”

Bobby came out and crouched by the chair, putting his fingers to the man’s carotid, the other hand in front of his mouth.

“He’s dead.”

Dean gritted his teeth.

“Dean, what are you doing here?”

“Good day at work?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed, “Put the gun down.”

“No.”

“Feeling a little insecure, Dean?” Ruby quipped.

“Ruby, that’s enough,” Sam warned.

“Yeah, Ruby, that’s enough,” Dean mimicked.

“Dean, stop it.”

Dean snapped, “No, Sam! This is not okay! What you’re doing is _not_ okay. You lied to me. You lied to Bobby. And you’re working with _her? Again!?”_

“Bite me, Dean,” Ruby snarked.

“You keep flapping your trap I just might.”

“Dean, I…”

“No. That’s it. Give me my keys.”

“Dean –“

“Give me my damn keys!”

Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the impala keys, handing them to Dean.

Dean snatched them away, “Go get in the car.”

“You’re going with them?” Ruby asked, incredulously.

“I’d quit talkin’ if I was you, sweetheart,” Bobby nodded.

“You’re lucky you’re still breathing, bitch,” Dean growled.

“Demons don’t breathe, jackass.”

“One more word,” Dean warned, cocking his shotgun.

Ruby put her hands up in surrender.

“Come on, Dean,” Bobby urged, “Let’s get outta here.”

Dean was fuming. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck. He wanted to shoot Ruby in the face, preferably with the colt, so she’d never get back up again. But he listened to Bobby and left, following Sam.

Bobby nodded to Dean and got into his Chevelle. Dean went to the driver’s side door of the impala.

“Dean, you haven’t driven in weeks. This is a long drive. Maybe you should –“

“Clean the blood off your face and get in the car,” Dean snapped.

Sam wiped his nose on his sleeve, puppy dog eyes firmly in place. Dean wasn’t buying it. He was too mad.

Dean lowered his head as Sam got in the car. He was happy to get behind the wheel of his baby. He just wished the circumstances were different. It was going to be a _very_ long night.

 

…


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, for the wait on this chapter. Been a crazy time. Only a few more chapters left, maybe even just one! I hope you've enjoyed the journey *kisses*

Sam watched Dean shift uncomfortably in his seat, pain and anger lines etched in his brow. Sam should have known this would happen. But things got hairy getting the demon trapped and it had taken longer than he’d hoped. He’d also just completely lost track of time. He was in the zone with Ruby, working his mojo. And he loved it. He was on a high. But then Dean and Bobby showed up and brought reality crashing down on him. Dean was pissed. Rightly so. He’d lied to him. But it was more than just lying to his brother. It was hunting without him. Because he _couldn’t_. And that’s what would have hit his brother the hardest.

Dean released his left hand from the wheel and brought it to his eyes, rubbing discreetly.

“Dean, I –“

“Shut up.”

Sam swallowed, letting out a breath and looking towards the window.

Dean sighed heavily beside him.

“I need you to grab my pills from the back,” Dean ordered, gruffly.

“Sure,” Sam said, reaching round, “How are you feeling?”

“That wasn’t an invitation to talk.”

Sam steeled his jaw and grabbed the bottle of painkillers, tipping one out and handing it to Dean.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” Sam pleaded, seeing his brother’s discomfort and knowing he shouldn’t be operating a vehicle on that medication.

“No,” he bit.

“Dean, listen –“

“Sam,” Dean raised his voice, “Stop. I’m _not_ going over this with you. I just… I honestly don’t have it in me right now,” he said, voice turning soft.

“I’m sorry,” Sam muttered, looking down. He almost didn’t hear his brother’s response.

“You always are.”

 

…

 

Sam kept sweeping glances in his brother’s direction. Dean was looking more and more worn, his eyelids dipping. Sam couldn’t watch it any longer. Before they knew it they’d be wrapped around a tree if they kept this up.

He opened his mouth to say something, to force him to stop and get in the passenger seat instead, but he didn’t get a chance to speak.

There was a brief and forceful sound of fluttering in the back seat and then a gruff, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean was obviously completely zoned out, as Sam suspected. Because he jumped on the break, car fishtailing wildly until he could control it and send it rumbling onto the gravel shoulder.

“Jesus, Cas!” he shouted, slamming a hand into the steering wheel.

Sam uncurled his hand from where it had been clenching the door handle.

“I startled you,” Cas pointed out guiltily.

Dean groaned, dipping his head and rubbing his forehead with his fingers,

“You trying to put me back in the hospital!?” his voice still raised.

“I am sorry. But I heard your call and came as soon as I could.”

Sam’s eyes shot to his brother, unable to control the surprised expression that took over his face.

“I didn’t…” Dean’s eyes met Sam’s briefly, before looking around, not fixing on anything in particular, “I mean I wasn’t… Cas, what the hell, man!”

Cas narrowed his eyes, “You should not be driving right now.”

“Not with angels poppin’ into my back seat and giving me a heart attack,” Dean moaned.

“I apologise for… popping in,” Cas shrugged in his trench coat uncomfortably, “But you needed assistance.”

Dean looked from Sam to Cas, in the rear view, not twisting his body in the seat. He jutted his jaw out in anger and cast his eyes skyward before throwing his door open and stumbling out into the cold night air.

Sam followed, chasing his brother quickly. By the way he was moving he was about to hit the ground any second.

To Sam’s surprise he actually leaned into his brother until he got his legs steady underneath him and then pushed him away.

“Dean…” Cas said, suddenly standing with them.

“I can’t take this, guys,” Dean said, voice shaky with anger and exhaustion, “I mean…” he flapped his arms by his side, eyes tearing up.

“Sit down, Dean,” Sam reached a hand out to him again.

Dean recoiled, hands raised, “Don’t touch me, man. I can’t even look at you right now.”

Sam stepped backwards as if the statement had delivered a physical blow.

Dean directed his gaze back to Cas, “I “ _needed assistance”_?” he repeated, “Cas, man, I needed assistance six months ago! I needed assistance a _week_ ago when I was dying in the ICU! I’ve needed you every freaking day these last few months! I “ _needed assistance”_?” he said again, “Since _when_ has that ever been the criteria for you showing up?”

Cas lowered his head, eyes towards the ground, “It has not been easy.”

“You’re telling me.”

The weak, breathy sound of Dean’s voice sent a wave of panic washing over Sam. Dean wasn’t doing well. And that small, frail sentence made him sound close to either tears or collapse, possibly both.

“Dean,” Sam said, without thinking.

Dean didn’t even look at him, just clenched his jaw, the muscles on the sides of his face protruding.

“Guys, I’m…” A tear slid down Dean’s face and he turned his head away, trying to hide his pain.

Cas frowned, eyes flitting on the ground in front of him like he was thinking, “Dammit,” he whispered, as if he was about to do something he wasn’t supposed to.

He stepped closer to Dean, “Dean.”

Dean looked up, eyes meeting his.

“This will only hurt for a moment.”

Cas reached out a hand and placed his two fingers on Dean’s forehead, a brief spark of light coming from beneath them. Dean closed his eyes.

Sam took half a step forward, panic and hope consuming him, but Dean’s eyes opened, and dual tears ran down both cheeks.

“Cas,” Dean stuttered, “Did you just -?”

“Be careful, Dean.”

And like that, he was gone.

Sam was stunned for a moment. Dean’s eyes were red, his face tear stained.

“Did he just heal you?” Sam asked, mouth dry with anxiety.

“Yeah,” Dean said, the word breathless.

“Are you alright?” Sam asked, tentatively putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“I, uh, I dunno…”

Dean was still, like he didn’t want to attempt moving in case it was all an illusion.

“Can you, uh, can you,” he pointed to his back, “check the scar?”

“Yeah,” Sam rounded his brother and pulled up his coat and shirt. There was no scar on his back, no sign there ever was. He touched Dean’s skin and he flinched.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled, “It’s gone, Dean… It’s gone.”

Dean let out a strangled breath and Sam didn’t really know what to make of it.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel fine, Sam,” Dean said, anger finding its way back into his voice, “… Get in the car.”

 

…

 

The ride back home was tense. Dean didn’t seem overjoyed about his new body. At first he’d seemed emotional, like the world had been crashing down on him and someone just came and lifted it off, like he would fall, unaccustomed to the lack of weight on his shoulders. But then he was pissed. And Sam was really being stupid if he thought being healed would stop his brother being mad at him for what he’d done. The car ride was spent in silence, even as Sam tried to celebrate Dean’s new health. He was relieved. _God,_ he was relieved. No more pills, no more barely making it down the hallway, no more crutches or canes, no more wincing and groaning and hissing in pain, no more coughing up a lung, no more pale or even yellow skin. Dean was healed.

When they pulled up at the house Dean kept the engine running, barely even pulling over to the curb.

“Get out.”

Sam swallowed, but did as his brother said. He held his door opened and leaned down, “Where are you going to go?”

“To get a drink,” Dean roared, slamming the car into drive.

Sam shut his door just as Dean pulled the car out down the street.

When Sam turned around Bobby was standing on the front porch.

“What the hell happened to you two?”

“Cas healed Dean,” Sam said.

Bobby stared at Sam for a moment, “… Well, shit.”

 

…

 

Dean realised a bar wouldn’t be open this early. First light was showing, fog still hanging just inches above the ground. He hit a 24-hour liquor store and bought a bottle of whiskey.

For a moment Dean just sat in the driver’s seat and relished a gulp of whiskey, straight from the bottle.

He didn’t know what to do. He was healed. He had forgotten how it felt for his back not to hurt. It had hurt for so long. He could walk without a limp, without strain. Getting in and out of the car was easy.

_“This… inside me…”_

He was healed. But he wasn’t fine.

_“I wish I couldn’t feel anything, Sammy…”_

Dean tipped the bottle to his mouth, a loose tear slipping free.

_“I wish I couldn’t feel a damn thing.”_

...


	30. Chapter 30

“Dean?” Riley stood in the doorway, wearing athletic gear like she’d just been working out or was planning to. The sun was hitting her in all the right places and it was all Dean could do not to rip her clothes off with his teeth. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey Riles… Listen, I’m sorry for snapping at you on the phone last night.”

Riley furrowed her brow, assessing him, “You look different.”

“Better?” Dean smirked.

“Yeah,” she said, sounding confused.

“Well, I am… better, I mean.”

She scrunched her face up, “What? Over night?”

“I can’t explain it.”

“There’re a lot of things you can’t explain.”

“I know,” Dean muttered, looking down.

“You been drinking?” she asked, popping her hip and leaning against the doorframe, still not letting him in.

Dean cleared his throat, knew Riley was too smart to lie to, “Yeah.”

“You drunk?”

“No.”

“Dean,” she moaned in a way that was so Sam-like.

“It’s okay,” he shrugged, “ _Really_. I’m okay.”

She pursed her lips and muttered, “Why don’t I believe you?”

“I’d like to come inside. If that’s alright.”

She looked at him for a moment, “Sure.”

 

…

 

Dean lay on his back next to Riley, hand resting on his stomach, allowing his breath to return to a normal rhythm. Riley was propped up on an elbow staring at him with a smirk and a curious look on her face.

“What?” Dean smiled.

“You just look _so_ good,” she laughed, running the back of her hand across the scruff on his chin.

“Did I really look that bad?”

Riley’s smile dropped a little, “Yeah, you did.”

Dean sighed, still smirking.

“What happened to you, Dean? I didn’t think we’d be able to…” she quirked her head, “for a while. You’ve been so sick, you only just got out of hospital. And your back. I didn’t think you could do… _that_ at all.”

Dean clenched through his teeth. He couldn’t explain this away. He couldn’t tell her anything without telling her _everything_. And he’d made the wrong call with girls in the past and would not allow that to happen again. Not just for his own pride and selfish ego, but for her sake. She was safer not knowing.

“I’ve just… got some _really good_ drugs now,” he huffed a laugh.

She shook her head lightly, “No, that’s not it,” she called him out, “Something is really different about you.”

“Riley…” Dean started.

“It’s okay. I’ll never push you, Dean. I don’t need to know everything about you.”

Dean’s smile was gone, “You wouldn’t want to.”

“I mean,” she continued, “I don’t need to know everything about you to know the person that you are. I don’t know what you’ve done. I don’t care. Because I know _you_.”

Dean shook his head, “No, you don’t.”

Riley smiled, “I know you’re a good guy, Dean. A good guy that’s been through a damn lot. So, you don’t have to talk to me. You don’t have to open up if you don’t want to. I’ll be here. Whatever happens… I’ll be here.”

Dean had to blink hard to control the tears that threatened to leave his eyes. He had never intended what this was with Riley to go so far. All it started out as was a bit of fun, something to take his mind off things. Then it became about feeling someone, being touched, a desperate need for human comfort and acceptance. He’d leaned on her more than once. And it _had_ been fun. Still was fun. Now more than ever. But he couldn’t keep doing this. They had to get out of town quickly, burn it all to the ground. He was healed, and that meant everything was back on, and the apocalypse wasn’t going to stop itself.

“Sam and I are leaving town,” Dean said, matter-of-factly.

To Dean’s surprise, Riley just smiled, “I know,” she said, resolutely.

Dean furrowed his brow, confused.

“The way you look isn’t the only thing different about you,” she smirked, “And I kind of always got the impression this was… temporary.”

“I didn’t mean for things to go this far,” Dean muttered, looking at the ceiling.

“Hey, it’s not your fault. Takes two to tango or, you know, have hard core sex.”

Dean laughed, then shook his head gently, “I don’t mean that. I mean the… other stuff.”

Riley’s smiled faded, “I know you do… but don’t tell me you regret that. Not completely. Because I sure don’t.”

Dean rolled towards her, taking her face in his hand and kissing her soft lips, “If things were different…” he trailed off.

“Don’t give me something to hope for, Dean,” Riley said softly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever be sorry for doing what you have to.”

 

…

 

Once Sam had spoken to Riley and confirmed Dean was there he relaxed a bit, relieved that he was in good hands and not black out drunk in a gutter somewhere.

“Sam.”

Bobby was leaning on the wall, arms crossed, staring at him.

“You gonna tell me what’s going through that fool head of yours?”

Sam chewed the inside of his lip, shook his head briefly, “Cas told me he couldn’t cure Dean, not fully anyway. The physical stuff, yeah, but… Dean’s been to _hell_ , Bobby. His, uh, it’s his soul. Cas can’t heal his soul.”

Bobby stayed silent, letting Sam get it out.

“I’m starting to think that, no matter what happens, I won’t ever get my brother back.”

Sam clenched his jaw, feeling the emotion bubble up, tears forming in his eyes, and he looked down.

Sam felt Bobby step closer, “Your _brother_ has been right here this whole time.”

Sam looked up at him.

“Sure, it might take him a while to start crackin’ wise ass jokes and being a general pain in the ass, but he’s still your brother. He’s back from _war_ , son.”

Sam nodded, solemnly, “I know, I just…”

“You just nothing, Sam. We stick through it, together, that’s what we always do. And Dean might never be the same, but that’s life. Crap happens.”

Sam huffed out a laugh, rubbing his fingers against his forehead.

“I suppose Dean’s gonna wanna hit the road.”

“What else?” Bobby shrugged.

“Cas healed Dean. The angels, they’re gonna want to use him again. And Lilith is still out there.”

“Yeah, and you know all too well about that, don’t ya, Sam?”

Sam sighed, “I’m sorry, Bobby. I’m sorry for working with Ruby but I had to do _something_.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t do “something”. I’m saying you shouldn’t do _that_. But it’s your brother that’s going to tear you a new one for that so I’ll lay off for now.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me.”

Sam looked down again, guilt and shame hitting him like a freight train.

Bobby put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, reassuring him that he was there. No matter what. Always would be.

“So, should I start packing?” Bobby muttered, smirking.

Sam looked up with a strained smile on his face, “Well, we should probably work out how to get rid of the Devil’s Trap on the living room floor.”

 

…

 

_“Dean…”_

Dean thrashed against his binds, but every turn, every tug in any direction, caused searing pain to lance up his side. He was hot, skin burning, sweat running off him, into his eyes. Stinging. He felt the bone is his arm snap, and cried out, trying to curl in on himself to protect the broken limb but he was fixed in place, and it hurt too much to try and move.

_“Dean.”_

“Please, stop… please,” he begged, voice weak and crackling, desperate.

He felt the other arm snap and cried out. Knives were being driven into his side, blood dripping on his face that wasn’t his blood.

He bucked again, against the shackles, against the hooks and the ropes…

_“Dean!”_

Dean’s eyes flew open and he grabbed the shoulders of the person leaning over him, throwing them back against wall and holding them there.

“Dean, it’s me. Please. It was just a dream.”

Dean’s breathing was sawing in and out, chest heaving, brow furrowed in anger. He was working on fight or flight. Fight.

“Dean…”

He blinked. _Oh God._

He let Riley go and she sunk back onto the bed.

She’d been trying to wake him from his nightmare and he’d grabbed her, swinging her around and holding her against the headboard until he could remember where he was.

His hands were shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he stuttered.

She rubbed her shoulder where he’d grabbed her, “It’s okay.”

“I, uh,” Dean wiped the sweat off his forehead with his palm, “Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s fine,” she whispered, “Are you okay?”

Dean hunched over on the edge of the bed, facing away from her, his hands gripping the mattress, “Yeah, give me a sec,” his eyes tracked all over the room as he tried to make sense of things.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he tried, and failed, not to flinch.

“It was a dream, honey,” she said near his ear, “Come back to me.”

Dean closed his eyes, feeling sweat trickle down his temple.

“I should go,” he muttered, mouth dry.

“You don’t have to.”

“I can’t –“ Dean’s voice broke, “I’m not going to put you in danger.”

“Dean, I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

Dean gave a wry smile, “Next time I might… So, I, uh… I need to go.”

 

…

 

Sam heard the rumble of the Impala and the squeak of the garage door that signalled Dean’s return. He’d been at Riley’s most of the day. It was getting on for 5pm. He heard Dean’s heavy steps pound up the stairs and the door opened. Sam was leaning on the kitchen counter, pretending he wasn’t waiting for him.

“Hey,” he said as Dean walked it.

Dean glanced at Sam then back down, “Hey, Sammy.”

Sam furrowed his brow, “You okay?”

Dean looked worn, edgy, and a bit sweaty actually.

“Yeah… I’m beat,” he sighed, honestly, rubbing his fingers across his brow, “I think I’m gonna hit it. After that…”

Bobby came down the hall and stood there, looking at Dean expectantly.

Dean nodded a Bobby, then glanced back at Sam, “We can’t stay here.”

Sam looked down, “I know.”

Bobby took a step forward, “Dean, can we pump the brakes for two seconds here? Cas _healed_ you, son. We should be celebratin’.”

When Dean’s head rose his eyes were glassy, “Yeah, it… it feels good.”

“You don’t sound thrilled.”

Dean pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down. He shook his head slightly, “Cas told me he couldn’t fix everything… I don’t know why I…” Dean trailed off.

“Hey,” Sam went to his brother’s side, put a hand on his shoulder.

“Sam,” Dean voice was a soft, painful whisper.

Sam pulled his brother against him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. He felt Dean grip the back of his shirt, and shudder against him as he cried silently.

Bobby was there, close now, his hand on Dean’s shoulder. And the three of them just stood there together, like a house of cards, only standing because they leaned on each other.

 

…


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me on this journey, lovely people. It's been a hell of a ride.

Bobby stayed at the house 2 more days, the boys 1 week. Sam was surprised it had taken Dean that long to finally pull the plug but he’d still had some healing to do, in a different sense of the word. Mainly he’d just needed some sleep. Sam wasn’t keeping too close an eye on the situation but he knew Dean still kept the valium next to his bed, and he was pretty sure he was popping them every night. But, hey, if it meant he got some rest, Sam wasn’t complaining.

Bobby had loaded his car up with all the stuff the boys wouldn’t need on the road and took it to his house in South Dakota. Sam had managed to get the red paint off the floor but it meant the hard woods needed re-staining, and that took time. Aside from that there were still carvings in the walls behind the pictures, that Dean had drawn to keep the angels out, and that Sam and Bobby had altered to let them in. Without plastering the whole place Sam couldn’t see an easy fix, so he’d told Karen, their landlord. Turns out Bobby must have spoken to her first, because she didn’t react, just told them the house would be empty for any time they needed it.

Dean mostly worked out, trying to get some of his muscle back, besides that he slept… and drank. And didn’t do much else.

How Dean took to a new body wasn’t good. Because Castiel had healed his liver better than it ever was, and Dean took that to mean he could drink even more.

“So, Cas gives you a new body and your first instinct is to run it into the ground,” Sam frowned, as Dean popped the top on a beer, sitting on the couch, wearing a grey hoodie. He’d just been working out in his room, so he was a little sweaty.

Dean grimaced, “It’s one drink,” he shrugged.

“When is it ever just one drink?”

Dean looked affronted. Naked, raw, vulnerable. And Sam wished he hadn’t said anything. Dean was fragile. Maybe he never used to be. Or maybe he always was.

“Screw you,” Dean moaned, taking a swig.

Sam sighed.

_If you can’t beat ‘em._

He grabbed a beer from the fridge and plonked down on the couch next to his brother.

“Hey,” Sam muttered, tilting his bottle towards Dean.

Dean narrowed his eyes for a moment, assessing, before he angled his bottle the same way and clinked the necks together.

Sam was the first to speak.

“How long do you think… before the angels show up again?”

Dean chewed his lip, “Dunno, Sammy. Who knows what the hell their plan is.”

Sam mulled that over for a moment.

“… So, what’s our plan then?”

Dean took another swig, “First… I’m gonna finish this beer. Then I’m gonna take a shower. Then I’m gonna run into town, few loose ends I wanna tie up… and then… we drive.”

Sam looked at Dean, “You wanna split today?”

Dean looked at his bottle, “It’s time, I think.”

Sam blew out a breath, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Dean nodded.

“Got a direction you wanna go in?” Sam asked.

“To be honest, Sammy, I hadn’t thought much about it.”

Sam watched Dean take a long pull on his beer. He cleared his throat, “I guess we should look into demonic signs and omens, try and rustle up anything on Lilith or the seals?”

Dean smiled, “Yeah,” he muttered, putting his beer to his lips.

“What’s so funny?” Sam asked, smiling himself.

“Nothing,” Dean shrugged, “I just, uh… I guess I missed this. Drinking a beer with you and talking about… demonic omens,” he laughed.

Sam let out a laugh. Soon they were both in hysterics.

Dean had to put his beer down on the coffee table so he didn’t spill it everywhere.

“Oh, Sam… I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard,” Dean said, wiping tears from his eyes.

Sam held his stomach, “Me neither.”

Dean leaned back in his seat, still smiling.

“We should do it more often,” Sam added.

His brother nodded, and slapped Sam’s leg before he pushed himself off the couch.

“So, uh, demonic omens?”

Sam gave a curt nod, “I’m on it.”

“That’s my boy,” Dean muttered before heading down to take a shower.

And that was the first time in _months_ Sam felt like he truly breathed.

 

…

 

Dean took a shower and drove over to Riley’s. There was really only one loose end he had to tie up.

“You want a cup of coffee?”

Dean stood on her front porch, watching her expression, and reading something there he hadn’t seen before.

“No, I probably shouldn’t stay.”

“You and Sam taking off today?” she leaned her hip on the doorframe.

“Yeah… we’ve just been cleanin’ up the place the last couple of days. Time to head out,” he had no idea what he wanted to say. He hadn’t thought this through.

“Where you going?”

Dean rubbed the back of his head, “We, uh, don’t actually know yet.”

She smiled at that.

“We’ve just been on the road our entire lives… Sam and me… we get itchy if we stay in the same place too long,” he laughed.

“Right,” she said.

“I know it’s hard to understand.”

“Dean, I run a bar. I’ve met my fair share of drifters. You don’t have try and explain.”

Dean felt a flush creep up his neck. He didn’t usually get embarrassed in front of women, but this situation wasn’t entirely familiar.

“Riley, I…” he clenched his jaw and looked down.

He felt her hand on his cheek. He looked up at her.

“These last few months haven’t been easy for me. _At all_. I just wanted to say thanks. For helping Sam… for helping me. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Yes, you could,” she smiled.

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t have to,” Dean replied, “I haven’t had a lot of good fortune in my life. You… you are a good thing.”

Riley still smiled, so sure of herself, which is what Dean always liked about her, “Well, Dean… if you ever decide to come back, your house will be here, Sam’s job will be here… _I_ will be here.”

Dean shook his head minutely, “What if you meet someone else?”

Riley smiled, “There’ll never be anyone else.”

“Riley…”

“The door is always open, okay?”

Dean smiled even though it broke his heart a little bit, “Okay.”

Riley put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled herself in to give him a brief kiss.

“Look after yourself, Dean.”

Dean looked her in the eye, and answered her sincerely, “I’ll try.”

 

…

 

Dean was waiting by the driver’s side door of the car, staring across the roof at the house as Sam came out carrying the last duffle bag. Sam turned and locked the door behind him, looking at the key briefly, he stuffed it in his back pocket and looked up at the house. Dean smiled and looked down at his feet. When he looked back up, Sam was coming down the porch steps, adjusting the bag over his shoulder.

“That’s it,” he said, stuffing the bag through the open back window.

Dean tapped on the roof of the impala, thinking.

“It’s kinda sad, isn’t it? After all the crap that’s happened here… I didn’t think I’d be sad to go.”

Sam smiled at Dean’s admission, “It hasn’t exactly been easy… but it was a good a place as any to crash.”

Dean nodded.

“Dean, I… I know this has been hard on you. _All_ of it. I just want you to know _I’m_ always gonna be here. If we are gonna get back on the road, back to fighting the fight, _this_ has to work. I need you to talk to me.”

“Goes both ways, Sammy,” Dean quirked an eyebrow.

Sam sighed, “Y-you’re right. No more secrets… No more going through things alone, okay?”

Dean pushed his lips out, nodding as he mulled it over, “Deal.”

“Deal?”

Dean grinned, “Yeah, Sammy, deal. If I, uh… if I’m struggling I’ll let you know.”

Sam seemed to relax a little with relief.

“Where’d you get to with the omens?” Dean asked, happily changing the subject.

Sam pulled a crumpled up piece of paper out of his pocket, “Billings, Montana.”

Dean clicked his tongue, “That’s a good two day drive.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, knowingly.

Dean grinned in satisfaction. He was way past due to just _drive_.

Still smiling at each other the boys opened their doors with synchronized squeaks, dropping into their seats.

Dean started the car and felt her rumble, “You hungry?”

“ _Starving_ ,” Sam replied.

“Can you wait a half hour? I wanna lay down some rubber first,” Dean smirked.

Sam huffed a laugh, “Sure, man. Do what you gotta do.”

Dean sniffed, nodding again to himself, “And, Sam… Thanks… for –“

Sam held up a hand, “Dean, you’d do the same for me.”

“Damn right I would.”

Sam smiled, gazing out the window at the house.

Dean put her in drive and pulled away. Away from the house where everything had fallen apart. Away from the street where all the neighbours new his name and the sounds of his screams. Away from the bar where Sam had worked many days and many nights to be able to make rent. Away from the hospitals, and the clinics, and the doctors who he had spent so much time with. Away from the girl who’d started out as just a bit of fun and had turned into so much more. Away from the world where monsters were only in books and the Winchester boys weren’t the ones that dealt with it.

And as Dean hit the highway and sped down the street away from that life, Sammy riding shotgun, he didn’t look in the rear view. He didn’t look back, not once.

 

**_End._ **


End file.
